


The Thing Frae Aberdeenshire

by byanothername



Category: Code Name Verity - Elizabeth Wein, Rose Under Fire - Elizabeth Wein, The Pearl Thief - Elizabeth Wein
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, i named julie's father david because it was awkward calling him lord craigie all the time, one original character dies, one original character is a cat, roughly fourteen original characters not counting the cat, the other original characters are human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:32:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 90,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byanothername/pseuds/byanothername
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically the entire reason this fic exists is to sate my need for more #jamie. This starts right as Code Name Verity ends and goes on from there. </p><p>Spoilers for The Pearl Thief, Code Name Verity, and Rose Under Fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thing One

**Author's Note:**

> On 16 March 2016, I sent the first draft of what is now Thing 3 to a friend to proofread and I prefaced it with the following statement: 
> 
>  
> 
> _'It really needs a better title than "The Thing" because "The Thing" sounds like a 50s sci-fi B picture. THE THING FROM ABERDEENSHIRE - THE BRIDE OF THE THING FROM ABERDEENSHIRE - THE THING FROM ABERDEENSHIRE RETURNS - &c._
> 
>  
> 
> _I AM OUT OF CONTROL.'_
> 
>  
> 
> Other titles that were suggested to me for this work were _The Adventures of Maddie_ and _Code Name Kittyhawk_. But I have chosen to keep the B-picture style title that I applied in snark, way back when I started writing this Thing, for the simple reason that it WAS as unstoppable as Frankenstein's monster once it got going. I had no idea when I began that I would a) ever post it here and b) that it would become SO FREAKING EPIC. 
> 
> But on 2 May 2017, _The Pearl Thief_ comes out in the US and I have set this date as my Time to Quit Writing This Thing. It meant whacking out a *lot* of subplots that went on in between Thing 13 and 14, but I actually really like it the way it stands here now, even though I did have to cut out a lot of stuff for the sake of my self-imposed deadline. I hope you enjoy it, despite all the self-indulgent connecting details.
> 
> #jamie
> 
> [Pinterest board with relevant pinnage](https://www.pinterest.com/harpinthecloset/the-thing-frae-aberdeenshire/)
> 
> **To download a pdf of this entire work (including 23 illustrations by yours truly),[GO HERE!!](https://declarethecauses.files.wordpress.com/2017/05/ttfa.pdf)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the pieces of music that I listened to constantly whilst writing this whole Thing was Beethoven's 6th Symphony, so if you want to play that in the background while you read, here: [Pastoral Symphony](https://youtu.be/dbfa86bTD34?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)

**21 December 1943**

**Moon Squadron HQ**

Jamie sat down on the edge of his bed, balancing the parcel on his knees, hesitant.  

Maddie had explained nothing. She’d just handed it to him when he’d come to see her for a minute that morning—oddly shaped, wrapped in brown paper—and told him that when he went home, he was to give it to his mother, guarding it jealously in the meantime. Jamie thought Maddie’s eyes looked as though she’d been crying again, and the sight made his heart ache for her grief and reminded him only too sharply of his own. He wished he could, by force of will, heal her broken heart, but he knew that only time could heal her. Or him for that matter. And even time would never efface the scars of their loss. Those would be there always, as long as they lived.

They had arranged to meet for supper at the pub, but that was hours from now, and he had nothing else pressing to do with himself. Curiosity won out. He untied the string and opened the wrapping to reveal a rag-tag pile of mismatched paper atop Maddie’s ATA pilot’s notes and a composition book. The topmost paper was fine hotel stationery, written over in a hand he knew well.

Julie’s.

Boldly splashed at the top of the first page: I AM A COWARD.

 _No,_ he thought. _Not you, little sister. Never you._

He read on, handling each sheet of paper as if it were gold leaf. Just like when she used to sit on his bed when they were younger and chatter endlessly at him while he was trying to read, now he heard her voice in the words, as though she were right there, telling him all this herself: soul-wrenchingly bright, and brave, and funny, in the face of ruin and death. It made him very unsteady, knowing she was dead but feeling that her words made her alive again, and he found himself chainsmoking through his precious stash of cigarettes trying to hold himself together.

He got to the last page of her confession and his last cigarette about the same time. Feeling completely numb, he mindlessly wrapped it all up again and put it in a safe place under his bed, and he threw on his coat and stalked out into the evening.

It was grey and still, and everything surrounding him was serene, belying his inner distress. Maddie was waiting for him outside the pub when he got to it, but he walked right past her, unseeing, and she followed him in.

He retreated to the darkest corner he could find, with a bottle of whisky for company, but he didn’t have any just at first. He only sat, silent, staring blankly at nothing.

“You read it, didn’t you?” It was not a question. She knew that he had, knew exactly what he was feeling. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I—”

“How, Maddie?” he interrupted fiercely. “How do we go on from here?”

She timidly laid a hand on his arm. Even through his coat, she felt his muscles tensed from clenching his hand, and she jumped when he slammed it on the table suddenly, setting the bottle and glasses shivering.

“Fucking sadistic Jerry bastard,” he cursed under his breath. “How could he _do_ that to her? How could _anyone_? Burning—oh, God, I hope he burns in hell.”

Maddie poured him a glass and he took it, throwing it back without ceremony, then laid his face on his arms on the table and quietly, sturdily sobbed for the next twenty minutes. Maddie edged closer and wrapped one arm around him, leaning her cheek on his shoulder, willing him to know she understood.

When his tears were spent, he sighed deeply and turned his face to her. She fished a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to him, her own eyes brimming in sympathy.

“Sorry, Maddie,” he said finally. “I guess I hadn’t expected to be punched in the gut like that when I started reading, but I couldn’t stop until I got to the end of what she wrote. ‘ _I have told the truth._ ’ And then I had to put it away. I couldn’t read any more just then.”

“I know.” Maddie nodded, her voice hushed. “I almost couldn’t bear it, either.”

Jamie sat up and his hand closed absently over Maddie’s, reaching for the bottle with the other. He poured Maddie some this time, too, and after a murmured _slàinte_ they drank it in silence, in memory.

After a moment Maddie spoke. “I was a such a mess in France. I worried that you would hold it against me for pushing to take Julie, and also about what was happening to Julie, and about you being stuck in France too, and always so desperate to get home, and now I _am_ home, safe, but she isn’t, and I’m so afraid of the future. Feel _so alone._ ”

For a long time they were quiet. Then Jamie said, “I’m here, Maddie. I will always be here for you, whenever you need me.”

“I know,” she whispered, dimly aware that they had pressed closer to each other, desperately in need of someone to cling to, each needing reassurance of the other’s presence.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said suddenly, after another shared shot. “I will drink myself into oblivion if we don’t.”

Once outside, he took her hand again, and they walked slowly, going nowhere in particular. The night was dark now, and the waning half-moon was mostly obscured by cloud, but they well knew their way to the cottage.

They didn’t go in, but stood against the wall between the front door and the sitting-room window. The night was very cold. Maddie leant back against Jamie, and he wrapped his arms around her, sharing his warmth. The emotional firestorm had burnt out for the night, leaving behind a silence and a dull, unnatural calm in its place.

“I feel hollow,” Jamie said. “A bit like being suspended in a parachute that never lands. Just keeps falling and falling. Nothing seems real.”

“So do I,” Maddie agreed. “I feel like that almost all the time, since—since she died.”

After that neither of them said anything more until the sound of the clock striking nine o’clock inside jarred them from their stupor. Maddie turned and faced Jamie, who, seized with sudden madness, pulled her towards him. It was too dark to read his expression. He touched her face.

“I probably won’t see you again before you leave tomorrow,” he said.

“Probably not,” she agreed, thinking fleetingly how strong his arm was around her waist.

“May I kiss you, Maddie?” he whispered, his voice thick and uncertain, the burr stronger than usual.

“Yes,” she answered, softly.

_Madness. This was madness._

He intended only to chastely brush her lips with his, but it wasn’t enough. She pressed herself into him, clinging to his coat, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her again, more comprehensively this time.

Perhaps the whisky had gone to her head. She couldn’t breathe or think; she was only aware of a sensory explosion in her brain. When he let go of her, she swayed a little. The world seemed to be spinning out of control around them, but he laid his hand softly against her face again and the touch was her anchor, steadying her.

“Maddie, I—” His voice caught.

“I have to go,” she breathed, but she didn’t move.

“I know.” He paused. “Maddie, come back to me. Give me your word you’ll come back.”

“I will,” she promised.

He opened the door for her, still holding to one of her hands as she went inside. She turned for an instant back to him.

“Goodnight, Jamie,” she managed to whisper, and he kissed her hand before letting go.

Once inside, Maddie decided to take a bath so she could be undisturbed a while. She stood hugging herself while the water ran, outwardly still, but her pulse leapt and the warm electricity of Jamie’s kiss still exploded in her head like firecrackers.

Was this falling in love, she wondered? “I can’t have,” she thought. How could she fall in love when her heart was in pieces, adrift and alone? “But—but I think I _did_.” And she immediately fell into a fit of hysterical laughter that quickly turned into tears.  
  
  


**26 December 1943**

**Craig Castle, Castle Craig**

In the smaller library, Esmé stacked the papers carefully and deliberately together, tapping their edges on the table to straighten them as well as they could be. She was composed, but Jamie, who had been watching her closely from where he was lounging in his favourite chair, saw the heartbreak in her eyes.

“I must write to Maddie at once,” Esmé said, mostly to herself. “Oh, the poor girl. She’s devastated.”

“We all are.” Jamie’s voice was tired, but he rose from his chair, stood behind her, and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Mother—”

She didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue. “I want to give her Julie’s ring, Mother.”

She looked up then, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him.

“Do you object?” he asked.

“Is the ring all you intend to give her?”

“No.” He sighed, suddenly aware he’d been holding his breath. “Myself too—if she’ll have me, I mean—but I think she will.” He remembered their heady parting kiss and closed his eyes tightly, attempting to quell the longing he felt to have her in his arms right then.

Esmé didn’t respond for what seemed an interminable length of time, and he began to feel anxious that perhaps she was going to disapprove his plan.

“You do realise, I hope, that she is very aware of her station in life and will probably object out of a sense of propriety?” Esmé asked, finally. “She is almost servile in her deference to your father and me when she’s here. That’s not going to be an easy hurdle to scale, James.”

“I know. But I have to try. I need her, Mother. I need her like breathing.”

There was another longish pause before Esmé spoke again. “The ring is in Julie’s room, in the ivory box in her vanity drawer. Take it. With my blessing.” She squeezed one of his hands affectionately. “When are you planning to give it to her?”

“I don’t know yet.” Julie’s death was still too fresh, and he and Maddie had never been more than friends in the eyes of anyone, including themselves. Officially, anyway. He knew that _his_ thoughts at least had been straying beyond the confines of friendship for a while, and his mother was right—Maddie would think she was not worthy to be the wife of an earl’s son. “When the right time comes, I guess I’ll know. I don’t want to push her too fast.”

But neither did he think he could wait too long.  
  


The day after Maddie got her letter from Esmé, there was another one for her, but this time it was from Jamie. He’d never written to her before, and her heart leapt unexpectedly at the sight of it. She found a secluded corner to sit in and opened it eagerly.

 

_Dear Maddie,_

_Thank you for being such a wonderful comfort in distress. It meant the world to me to be able to read what our Julie wrote, and to have you not turn away from my response of horror and pain afterwards. You have always been so good and gracious to me, from the very first. I always felt Julie was safe when pragmatic, no-nonsense you were there with her. Giddy lunatics do need balance, after all, and my family_ is _rather full of them._

 _I read the rest, your part of the Ormaie account, on my train home after you left, and I fell apart again. I am glad neither of us have to bear this burden alone (though I desperately wished you were beside me then, too—I thought it was hard to read what Julie wrote, and didn’t expect it could possibly get worse. It did.) You did the right thing. You were_ her _best friend, and now you are, truly, the best friend_ I _have. I know I’m not Julie, but—well, we both know and understand what happened to her. Maybe we’re the only ones who can really help each other now._

_Which brings me to the point of this note. I have been slowly falling in love with you for months and when we kissed goodbye the other night I realised I simply can’t keep it to myself anymore. Reading between the lines of your Ormaie journal, I am fairly confident the feeling is mutual._

_However, if I_ am _mistaken as to your real feelings, I promise I will remain your friend forever and never bring this up again. But I don’t think I am mistaken. I know that I cannot conceive of any future for myself without you in it, somehow. Be my best girl?_

_With love,_

_Jamie_

 

Maddie folded the letter carefully back into its envelope, glowing warm inside, feeling very honoured and a little shy, but very, very pleased. She ran to her room and dashed off a reply right away.

 

_Jamie,_

_I just read your letter and I’m in such a dither I can’t even hold my pen steady. I’m not good with words like you, but you are not mistaken, and—YES_

_Maddie_

 

Only after she dropped it into the letterbox did she lose her nerve, and waves of self-doubt poured in, drowning her elation in cold realism. She tried pointlessly to reach in and pull the letter out, but of course she couldn’t reach it, and she sighed.

 _He’s the son of an_ earl _. You are a_ nobody _, Maddie Brodatt, you idiot, this will never work! It’s not like you could ever_ marry _him_.

“But—but,” she thought, while she battled the sick feelings rising inside her, “I can’t see a future without him in it, either. Don’t want to, anyway. Oh, _why_ am I always getting myself into trouble?”

 

**18 February 1944**

**Moon Squadron HQ**

The lads had been jovially but mercilessly teasing all through supper, and Maddie was visibly withering in self-conscious agony. Jamie took her to the sitting room, ordered out the people who were there (Julie was not the only one in the family who had Presence), and shut the door. They sat side by side on the couch, Jamie at ease and casual, Maddie anything but.

“You can relax now,” he said, but she remained stiffly on the edge of her seat, her ankles crossed and tucked as far under the couch as they would go, staring into the fire.

“Tell me what’s on your mind?” He leant forward so he could see her face.

“This is never going to work,” wailed Maddie, her words tumbling out in a torrent. “Us, I mean. I keep thinking about it and I can’t see what possible future the granddaughter of immigrant tradesmen can have with the son of an earl. I’ve been _kicking_ myself ever since I sent my letter to you, thinking, ‘this is hopeless, I’m an idiot, we really shouldn’t be—’”

He laid a finger on her lips to silence her. “You sweet dafty lassie. There is nothing— _nothing_ —that stands in the way of us. What my father is—all right, so it’s not your world, but it isn’t as if it’s _me_ inheriting the title—extremely unlikely, anyway. And even if I did, it just doesn’t matter. We can help and support each other like nobody else ever could.”

“Surely your mother wouldn’t—” Maddie began.

“My mother loves you. I was there when she wrote to you. I saw the letter, and she meant every word of it. We talk very frankly with each other, Maddie. If she objected, I would know. My brother married a librarian and everyone has been quite satisfied with that arrangement. They will be no less satisfied with you, supposing, perhaps, you someday... married me.”

Maddie was quiet, still not looking at him. She was thinking hard, and Jamie waited, watching her face closely for indications of receptiveness to his suggestion, but he couldn’t read her expression at all.

“But if you’ve really changed your mind,” he said finally, “I did promise to ask no more of you, and I meant it. _Have_ you changed your mind, Maddie?”

She almost said yes. But then she did look at him, and she stopped herself. His eyes were transparently pleading, and sincere, and full of longing. Then she glanced down at her hands primly clasped in her lap, and at his hand that seemed to be waiting for hers to come to it, and thought some more, and then she inched one of her hands a little closer to his in the space between them on the couch. He took it, and she said in a low voice, “I—I haven’t changed my mind. I believe you.”

His eyes lit up then, and he put one arm around her and drew her closer. She leant against him, still nervous as a cat, but feeling just a _little_ better about the situation, and he started to tell her things, which suited her just fine. She liked listening to him when he was contemplative, as he was now. His voice was even and soothing, and she slowly forgot herself in her engagement in his tales of his childhood and Eton.

He paused at one point, and Maddie, who was still holding his hand, asked him about being shot down. “If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said. “When we got hit, everyone except me and my navigator was killed instantly in the blast. He and I were able to bail out all right. Had a raft in our gear but didn’t have time to do a thing with it until we were already in the water, so you can imagine the comedy that ensued trying to inflate it and get into it. Thoroughly soaked by the time we got it up, both of us. Hamilton was shaking violently and in shock—I was a bit too, of course, but he and the gunner had been very good friends, and he was younger than me, so he took it harder, I guess. He kept chattering incoherently for about twenty minutes and then he lay down in the raft and just gave up. He had lovely sad brown eyes—kind of like Ronald Colman’s, you know?—and he died with them open—silent, no fuss, staring up at the sky. I tried to shut them when I realised he was gone, but couldn’t. Still have dreams about that sometimes, those haunting hopeless eyes that never close.” He shivered involuntarily at the memory. “Anyway, I was determined I wasn’t going to let cold water lick _me_ , so I took his socks and coat and anything else warm of his I could use to give me extra layers. It was _cold_ , Maddie. And everything we had was drenched. If I’d been submerged the whole time, I wouldn’t have made it. I was getting very tired when I was rescued. I don’t remember much about that part, actually. I was on the edge of survival by then. I think the raft sprung a leak, because I was floating on my back in my life vest when they pulled me out.”

“How dreadful,” Maddie murmured, staring at him with sympathy and a bit of awe.

“Rather. They took the toes right away, they were that bad. I wasn’t conscious for a while after they brought me in and I didn’t know until I woke up. They thought at first they could save my fingers, but after a few days of trying they had to take those too, and I became Rather Gloomy,” he went on. “The will to keep fighting that kept me going out there in the sea just dissolved in the shock afterwards. It wasn’t until after they took off the fingers that I realised I was not, in fact, invincible—Julie had rather idolised me, so I was a bit full of myself, I guess, being her favourite. Couldn’t really compete with my brothers, at least not the oldest three, since I was the youngest. Anyway, I’d thought nothing would ever get me down and now I _was_ down, and I mostly succeeded in convincing myself that I’d spend the rest of my life useless to anyone, maybe wouldn’t walk properly, and I was dead tired of the cheerful nurses chirping rot about How Splendidly I Was Doing, so when Julie came flying in and threw herself at me acting like I was at death’s door, I thought her snivelling was rather refreshing, actually.” He laughed. “It surprised me enough that I actually reacted—I’d been a moping sloth for quite a while at that point—and I reached up to stroke her hair and then I realised I couldn’t, and I was about to join her sobbing when I looked over her head and saw a pretty girl I didn’t know shyly hanging back, looking at me with intense curiosity and sympathy and openness. I didn’t know what she was actually thinking, but there was something a bit challenging in her face that said, ‘Pull yourself together, laddie, it’s not as if you lost your arms or legs!’”

It was Maddie’s turn to laugh. “I was thinking you looked like death, and Julie’s being so upset made me want you to brace up for her sake. She was _so_ upset and crying all the way in on the train.”

“So I wasn’t too far wrong, then.” He squeezed her hand. “Well, I decided to prove I wasn’t broken, that I was still myself, and I would go on with my life as if nothing had happened. It took some doing, though—I wasn’t over it instantly, but at least I started to try. I went and got this done after I got out of hospital, to remind myself that any self-respecting Stuart wouldn't let something like a few missing fingers and toes get him down." He rolled up his sleeve, and showed her a simple, elegant tattoo on his upper arm, of a sword piercing a heart, with the words _Virescit Vulnere Virtus_ across it on a scroll.

“What does that mean?” Maddie asked, tracing the words with the lightest of touches, looking deeply thoughtful.

“Stuart clan motto. It means ‘courage grows strong at a wound’.”

“I like that,” she said. “Very much.” She smiled, looking at the hand holding hers, stroking it gently. “Do they hurt, ever?" she asked after a longish silence.

“Like ghost pain? Not much. More trouble with my feet—always so cold, and not much feeling in them anytime, so I have to be careful since I can’t always _tell_ when they’re getting too cold. And I have a bit of Julie’s vanity, so I’m glad that I get to hide them in my shoes so nobody knows. I don’t mind my family knowing, of course, or them teasing me. That’s different. And you,” he added firmly, “are family.”

“That’s not vanity,” Maddie answered. “But you needn’t fret on my account—it doesn’t matter to me. It never has.”

“Just one more reason to love you.” He spoke softly and stroked her cheek as gently as if she was likely to break. “But I’m glad I didn’t lose all my fingers. I’d never have been able to touch your lovely face, if I had.”

“They’re enough,” she whispered. Their faces were so close, and she held her breath, captive to his fond and steady gaze. He kissed her cheek, very sweetly, and, rather predictably, she blushed. Then he just held her and they enjoyed the fire and the quiet together until they had to say goodnight.  
  


**15 April 1944**

**Moon Squadron HQ**   

Maddie, having just brought the Moon Squadron a lovely new Lysander, hurried off to find a place to change into her skirt and comb her hair. She was going to try to look as decent as possible, if she had to spend another evening amongst hilarity aimed at her. She knew the lads meant no harm with their teasing, and she _did_ so like them all, but it _was_ terribly trying to be the bullseye of their attention. She _almost_ missed being Just One of Them, but it also made her feel special to have been chosen by one of them as his particular girl.

Maddie frowned critically at her hair in the little mirror. She’d got all the tangles out, but now it looked about as becoming as a dandelion gone to seed. She sighed, shrugged, clapped her hat back on, and tossed her comb back in her bag. It was a lost cause.

She stepped outside and began walking purposefully in the direction of the cottage, but a moment later was surprised to hear Jamie’s voice behind her.

“Maddie! You’re going the wrong way!”

She turned and ran back towards him. He hugged her tightly, told her she looked _lovely_ (she snorted a bit at that), and kept his arm around her shoulders while he walked her the opposite direction, towards town.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Somewhere where we can eat our supper in peace,” he answered. “And then I am taking you for a long walk in the woods, where we will conveniently become lost until well after dark, to give the lads something new to rib us about.”

“Oh, Jamie, you’re mean,” she said, but her scolding ended in a giggle.

He shrugged and winked at her. “You’ll be off at two, and it’s me that will take most of it. They’ve been making wisecracks about what a slow mover I am since they wangled it out of me that I didn’t even kiss you when we were alone last time, so maybe they’ll ease up on me a bit if I give their over-eager imaginations a little push. After all, if they are _really_ so concerned about the excitement level of your love life, it isn’t as though they haven’t had years to make moves on you themselves—”

They went to the same pub they had sat in before Christmas. It seemed much brighter and cheerier now than it had then, and it was lovely just to be there under happier circumstances. They toasted each other (Maddie with tea, because she was flying later) but Jamie had her share of the whisky along with his.

“I think I’d feel safer with you slightly buzzed than I ever felt with Paul sober,” she said abruptly. She had been quietly watching him for several minutes, and the comment seized his attention.

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then asked, “Did he do anything to you, besides what you wrote down?”

“ _No,_ ” she said emphatically. “No.”

His relief was obvious. “Good, because if he had, I’d want to kill him. If he wasn’t already dead.”

It made her feel warm inside to hear him say that, and she smiled.

“Not that I’d begrudge you past lovers, mind,” he added quickly. “Just as long as you _wanted_ them.”

She burst out laughing. “There _are_ none, what do you think I am? I’ve never been asked to a dance or on a date, let alone have a boyfriend—”

“Until now,” he reminded her.

“Until now,” she conceded, with a self-conscious half-smile. “But it wasn’t Paul’s filthy hands that were the worst, really. I could push those away, but I couldn’t stop his horrid words and joking about me like he did. Still makes me feel dirty inside.” She made a face at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “It’s not true, what he said about me not liking men—it’s only that I’ve never been interested in toying with people’s affections and risking letting them down just for the sake of a few hours or weeks of entertainment. I just can’t do it. I won’t give myself away to anyone without being dead sure it’s for always, for both of us. I know it sounds prudish, but—”

Jamie had had to lean close to catch the last bit, because she had lowered her voice. “You’re a gem of a lass, Maddie,” he said softly, lifting her face to his. “You are _not_ prudish, not one bit. You just don’t want to be let down yourself, any more than you want to let someone else down, and I love you for it.” He wanted to add, _This is for always_ , but he didn’t. He just looked at her thoughtfully, and then he took her hands.

“You’ve always given me honesty,” he said, “and I owe you mine. I’ve never had a steady girlfriend, but I have chased after and flirted with plenty. Lots of kissing and petting and sneaky shenanigans in the moonlight—” he stopped, looking slightly self-conscious himself for a minute. “But I’ve managed by some miracle to not actually have slept with any of them, though I came close a few times. I don’t know if that matters to you or not, but there it is.”

“I guess I just assumed most men—” she stopped and looked away, unable to make herself say “sleep with girls all they want to”.

He understood, though, and laughed softly. “Not all men are sex fiends, my darling, not any more than all women are vestal virgins on their wedding night.”

She responded just as he suspected she would, ducking her head trying to hide her blushing face in her hair, and he felt his adoration for her grow exponentially in that moment. “But there hasn’t been anyone for a long while, Maddie. It seemed that the war, and knowing you, have sobered me up. Pursuing girls for—for the sake of entertainment, as you say—hasn’t been high on my priority list the last few years. I’m after the real thing now, Maddie, and I think you are it.” He tucked her hair back over her ears and whispered, “Now, all that out of the way, it is time to proceed to stage two of Operation RAF Grapevine.”

She shook her head, laughing in spite of herself, as she got up and followed Jamie out, letting him lead her into the wood just outside the village. “I come here often,” he told her, lifting a long, low-hanging shoot so they could duck under it. “I figure if I have to be idle, and I often am, I’d rather be idle out here among the peaceful birdsong with a book, or else just dreaming about drains. And you.”

“ _Drains_?”

He laughed. “I’m a bit mad, I know, but drains are as lovely and interesting to me as engines are to you, I think. See, we were destined for each other.”

“It’s lovely here,” Maddie said happily, evading acknowledging the last remark.

“There,” he said, and pointed to a mossy, massive old oak, whose roots formed a perfect seat on the forest floor. There was room for two, if they sat close, but although Maddie sat, hugging her knees, Jamie opted to lie down beside her, his head comfortably resting on the thick moss. There was a slightly wicked gleam in his eyes as he reached up and wound his finger in one of her curls—a perfect ringlet that had most fetchingly escaped from behind her ear.

“Come and join me?” he invited.

She hesitated, starting to say that she would probably fall asleep and she had to leave the airfield at two—

“Do you trust me?” he asked, kindly.

And she sighed and relented and, with the tiniest flicker of a smile, lay down beside him, albeit somewhat stiffly. The backs of their hands barely touched, but there was an insistent, palpable hum between them that Maddie felt and did not understand, and it pleased her and frightened her all at once. But she did trust him.

He didn’t do anything much. He turned on his side and laid his arm over her, and that was all. She felt completely relaxed, and her eyelids grew heavy. She really _was_ terribly sleepy.

“Rest, darling,” she heard him whisper. “I’ll watch over you and wake you in plenty of time to get back.”

The evening sun filtered through the leaves above them, and danced golden with the shadows like glimmering sovereigns on the ground. It was cool, but everything was still, and she was safe.

When she opened her eyes again, the light was gone, and she sat up quickly, shaking her head, trying to reorient herself. She couldn’t see Jamie. It was too dark.

“Awake?” she heard him ask, from not very far away.

“Yes,” she answered, sleepily, her head still dull.

“We’ll go back then,” he said, giving her a hand up. He led her back through the trees, evidently as familiar with these woods by night as by day.

The walk cleared her head, and she went to her room to change out of her skirt. He was waiting by the front door when she came back. The cottage seemed unusually quiet, and all Maddie could hear was the loud tick of the clock and her own heart beating. As he pulled her close, she wondered nervously if he would kiss her again, and whether it would leave her breathless and giddy like the last time.

But he did not kiss her. He framed her face with his hands and studied her eyes with an inscrutable expression. He let out a long breath, leant his forehead to hers, and whispered, “While you were sleeping out there, I thought about what you told me earlier, and I am determined not to let you down. I want you to know that I am not your superior officer and I am not going to give you orders and expect you to follow me blind. You are an intelligent, lovely woman, and you will always have equal voice with me. And while I am beyond recall in love with you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I don’t think you know yet for sure whether you love me, and therefore I have decided that I am not going to complicate things. So,” and here he hesitated a little, “until you ask me to, I am not going to kiss you again.”

His words had come out in a torrent, and Maddie was so touched that she instinctively wanted to exclaim, “But I _do_ love you!” out of her great longing to please, but she shut her mouth, and swallowed the words, and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said, almost inaudibly, her hands resting on his shoulders. She could feel his desire to kiss her, but she understood somehow that what he really wanted was more than a kiss. He wanted all of her, for always, and holding himself in restraint was clearly requiring a great deal of willpower.

“I love _you_ , Maddie,” he whispered. “Think about it. Next time we’re together—maybe then you’ll know.”

 

**16 April 1944**

_Dear Jamie,_

_I told you last night that I’d never been to dances or dates or had lovers, which is technically true—but on my way home I realised that we were speaking of it in the context of the lovers being men. And I think I should tell you about Julie and me, because although we were not lovers in the romantic sense, we_ were _so close that I am a little afraid to write of it. I don’t want it to make a difference to you. Perhaps it won’t._

_Julie and I were tied up together tightly—loyalty, trust, affection, sharing secrets and things we never shared with anyone else. It was a very deep and wonderful bond, something so mysterious and a bit magical that I don’t honestly know if I’ll ever love anyone that way again. I really don’t._

_Julie told me about a girl she was absolutely mad about the summer of 1938, a girl who taught her how to give proper kisses, so I knew she was open to anything, but she never once indicated that she felt that way for me. She enjoying playing with men, leading them on, but she just couldn’t be_ serious _with any of them. She became rather disillusioned with men with her interrogative war work, too—and I don’t blame her. She was a very different sort of girl with me. I think we knew we could just be_ us _together—it was that simple. But other people might not have understood._

_We were so close, Jamie. Every chance we got, it was hugs and snuggles and kisses on the cheek, arms around each other walking down the street, hands clasped under the table at meals, sharing a bed whenever we could—anything, just to be close. It was comforting and lovely and sweet and completely platonic. Julie was very good at filling that emptiness in me, the need for touch I did not know I was starved for, and which she needed without the complications of romance. She was the sister I always longed for._

_None of what I did with Julie_ ever _made my body respond the way it does when you touch me or kiss me, involuntary and powerful. It frightens me a bit—I don’t know what is happening to me in those moments, I feel so very vulnerable and helpless, as though I’ve lost hold of the controls and I’m going down in a flaming spin._

_I am afraid you’ll take all this the wrong way. I am no good with words. I like when you kiss me, truly, but I am relieved more than I can say that you've put my hands back on the controls. I need a clear head to calculate rationally, and my brain goes up in fireworks every time you are close to me, doing whatever it is you do that makes me go all wobbly._

_I really am hoping you will reassure me that your feelings for me aren’t changed by anything I’ve written here. I’m still trying to make sense of my own feelings. You have been so patient while I dither with myself endlessly about what exactly it is that I even want, and I am so grateful for that._

_Maddie_

 

**20 April 1944**

_Oh my sweet dafty lassie, how long until you realise that NOTHING will change my feelings for you? Even if you_ had _been romantically involved with Julie, even if you never_ can _love me the same way you loved her, I would still want you over any other woman._

_I’m going to try to call you, but in case I can’t get through, I just wanted to put this in writing for you._

_Love always,_

_Jamie_

_PS. I know exactly the girl Julie was referring to. I had no idea Julie was crazy about her. Most of that summer I had a crush on the same girl. My_ goodness _, her poor mouth must have been very busy, between the two of us batty kids._

 

**6 July 1944**

**Moon Squadron HQ**

There wasn’t time for a proper date tonight—in fact, Maddie hadn’t counted on seeing Jamie at all. She had dropped off another new Lysander and would be taking one away for repairs, but Jamie had somehow heard she was coming and he came seeking her out. She lit up at the sight of him, but her smile faded a little as she saw his serious expression and felt the sense of urgency with which he steered her into the trees near the cottage.

“What is it, Jamie?” she enquired anxiously. “Has something happened?”

“They’re moving the Moon Squadron to France in a few weeks.” A strong tinge of unhappiness permeated his otherwise carefully controlled voice.

“No!” she burst out, hoping she’d heard wrong. “No, they _can’t_ do that!”

“They can,” he said gently, taking her shoulders and looking her in the eye. “And they are, and I’ll have to go—but Maddie, they’ve given me three days off before they send us over.”

“When?”

“The last of the three is Julie’s birthday.”

“I have two days off then,” she said, as if to herself. She was still shocked, and hardly knew whether she had said the words out loud.

“Yes, I thought you did. Well, Maddie, I love you and I want to—I mean, _will_ you—marry me on her birthday?”

She stared at him, mouth open, trying to take in all he’d just said, and emotions ran riot in her heart. She felt desperate and elated and unspeakably sad all at once, and then she hid her face in his shoulder and began blubbing ungracefully.

“People are always going away and dying,” she sobbed out. “I don’t want you to be one of them! I’ve lost Julie, and I’ll just—I can’t bear it if _you_ just disappear or die so far away. I want to know where you are, know you’re safe!”

Jamie gently held her, staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. After a while, Maddie’s sniffling quieted, and she lifted her head with a shaking sigh to look at him.   

“There are no guarantees of safety anywhere in wartime,” he reminded her, his voice gentle. “Not even here.” He leant his head to hers and went on pleading, “Maddie-love, please say yes. I can’t let us fly away from each other tonight without something to hang on to. We need each other.” His breath was soft on her face and she closed her eyes, clinging to his coat, listening, mind racing. “Whenever we’re apart, I can’t think of anything much but you. Say yes, Maddie. Please. _Please_ shake some sense into your dithering brain and say yes.”

She swallowed and her words came out in something of a squeak.   

“Yes, Jamie.”

He sighed as if a great burden had just been rolled off his shoulders and he smiled at the sky.

She swallowed again, trying to summon up her courage. “Kiss me, Jamie?” she finally managed to whisper, hoarsely, timidly.

“Oh, _ma chérie_ ,” came the unhesitating answer. He smiled fondly at the glint of the undried tears still tracking down Maddie’s cheeks. He kissed them away, then tightened his hold of her and kissed her sweet mouth, and brushed his lips softly down her neck. She made a startled but happy little sound and her knees buckled. In a moment they were on the grass, Jamie kissing her as if he would never have another chance. Maddie thought her heart might just explode with wonder and joy, but she lay there stupidly trying to imagine what on earth was an appropriate response to such an outburst.

When he finally paused to catch his breath, he saw her wide-eyed face and grinned impishly. “Relax, Maddie-lass. Pretend we’re dancing and follow my lead.”

Maddie giggled nervously. Always pretending, she thought with a smile. Her heart overflowed suddenly with love for this crazy boy as they lay face-to-face, glowing in the golden sunset light.

“I guess it took the thought of losing you to shock me out of my doubts.”

“In that case, the squadron moving to France is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, adoring her. “Though I’d be quite happy to just stay right here forever.”

She timidly reached her hand to his face and scooted a little closer so she could kiss him back.

“Wherever did you learn to kiss like _that_?” he asked her a moment later, surprise and pleasure glinting in his eyes. “I thought you said—”

“I’m just following your lead, like you said to,” she replied. Her voice sounded unnaturally coy in her ears. _What was happening to her?_

“Well, you’re amazing. Come here and do it again.” He pulled her back into his arms, and for a long time they lay there, as close to each other as it was possible to be in the open air, fully clothed, in a place where anyone might pass by and see them, kissing and cuddling and whispering secrets. He teased her playfully, and she blushed and stammered and felt very, very special.

The sun dipped over the horizon, and they sat up at last. Jamie leant against the tree trunk again and Maddie nestled into him, savouring the warmth of his arms. He sighed deeply in contentment, using his free hand to pick grass and tiny twigs out of Maddie’s tangled curls. It seemed to Maddie that she would never be able to tear herself out of that warm, quiet haven of his arms, where there were no bombs, no war, nothing but love and safety and hope. She was glad to have taken shelter there. It seemed now the obvious and only place to be.

After a few more minutes the moon began to rise and they both looked at Jamie’s watch at the same moment. “Have to get back to the airfield,” he said, regretfully.

They walked there, hand in hand, and when they had to say goodbye, he took off the leather lace from around his neck where his identity disks were tied, and he undid a few knots and took something off of it. Almost before she realised what he was doing, she felt something cold slipping onto her finger. She lifted her hand in the moonlight to look at it. He stepped back a little so he could see her face beaming at him.

“It was my great-grandmother’s,” he said softly. “Passed down to my mother, then Julie. Now it’s yours.”

She clenched her fist to her chest as if she was afraid the ring would vanish if she wasn’t careful.

“I will never, ever take it off,” she promised, almost fiercely. She took his leather lace from his hands, tied a good solid knot, and put it back around his neck. Then she surprised him by stepping close and kissing _him_.

“I love you, Jamie,” she whispered against his mouth. “I really do. I will marry you on Julie’s birthday.”

He kissed her back, lightly, and then they stepped away from each other into the night.


	2. Thing Two

**8 May 1945**

**Paris Ritz**

Rose and Maddie left Bob and the lights and noise of the Ritz bar and went upstairs to go to bed. When Maddie started to unlock her door, Rose touched her arm and asked, in a small, hesitant voice, “Would you—would you very much mind staying with me tonight?” Her eyes betrayed her fear of being left alone again, and she was trembling rather violently from the stimulation of the day, now that she was safely away from it.

Maddie reached for Rose's hand and squeezed it with a compassionate smile. “Of course I will, Rosie. I'll just get my things out of my room.”

They were just tucking in when the phone rang. Rose nearly jumped out of her skin. Maddie sat up and laid a gentle hand on her still-quaking friend's shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

Rose lay back down. She heard the indistinct hum of a male voice on the line and turned her head, wondering who it was. Had Bob forgotten something he was going to tell them?

No, it couldn't be Bob. Maddie's eyes had lit up and her cheeks gone pink, and she said breathlessly, “Jamie! Oh, Jamie, how did you find me?”

“I've spent a mint of money today tracking you down, Mrs B,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Worth every penny, though. I tried all the usual places, and then finally got your gran on the third try, who told me to call Rose's aunt, who said you'd gone to Paris—”

“I came to get Rose,” Maddie interrupted happily. “She’s _alive_ ! She's going to be fine. But it’s hard, coming back to the real world, you know? We’re going back to England in the morning. We’ve had a _perfectly_ lovely day, though!” And she told him all about it, the crowds and the singing, and buzzing the Eiffel Tower. She was so animated that it made Rose warm inside to see her.

Then Jamie started talking, and Rose listened to the mostly indistinct but clearly overjoyed tones, and watched Maddie's perfectly blissful face until she hid it behind her hand and said, “Shush, Jamie, Rose is right here and she's going to hear you!” Jamie did not shush, but Rose couldn't make out most of what he said anyway.

After Maddie hung up the phone, her eyes gleaming like moonbeams, she switched off the light and slid down under the covers. “The war is over, and soon I’ll get my husband back.” She wasn’t talking to Rose in particular.

But after a moment, Maddie asked, “Did you hear what he was saying?” Her voice sounded self-conscious.

“Not really, but I got the gist of it.” Rose leant her head against Maddie’s shoulder, trying to think of some way to reassure her friend.

“You oughtn’t be embarrassed when he says romantic things to you, Maddie,” she said at last. “You _are_ married, after all.” She felt a little twinge as she remembered Nick’s betrayal, remembered the thin hope his memory had given her to cling to all those months, dashed in an instant when she read Maddie’s letter. There would never be Nick for her again. Not that she cared very much at the moment; it was too much to think about. But she had, once, loved the way he made her feel. She wanted that for Maddie. She had caught enough glimpses of the vulnerability Maddie carefully concealed under her modesty, wisdom, and experience to know that Maddie _needed_ to feel safe and loved, and she well deserved to be. Rose’s eyes filled with tears, but she did not let herself cry.

Maddie’s voice came again in the darkness, small and sober, driving all melancholy thoughts of Nick out of Rose’s mind. “I haven’t seen Jamie even _once_ since the wedding. We’ve written plenty, of course, but I haven't talked to him on the phone since—New Year’s, I guess.” Then, as if it was a relief to tell someone, she plunged on, “It just seems so strange to think of actually being with him in person, let alone doing—well, we haven't seen each other for the better part of a year, and not very often before that!” Maddie exclaimed, a note of panic in her words. “People can change a lot in a year. What if we find out we’re actually complete strangers now? What if we spend the rest of our lives wishing we’d waited until _after_ the war when we could have gotten to know each other properly first? He’s always talking about—” she hesitated. “About—well, sleeping together. I don’t think he knows how terrified and shy I feel about it.”

“You should tell him,” Rose said, softly.

“I’m afraid to tell him. I shouldn’t be, but I am,” Maddie said, almost inaudibly, then added in ominous, almost indignant tones, “‘Gormless Maddie Shows Complete Ignorance Yet Again’, that’s the story of my entire brief love life. Everyone else is calm and cool about these things. Julie would laugh herself _silly_ at me, if she were here now, I know it. _She_ never had a bit of trouble being charming and lovable. Jamie is so very, very—well, physical! and I never know how to respond, and I know how it works, but it sounds dead terrifying. What if I don’t _like_ it?”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Maddie said, her voice quiet again. “I do. I really do love him.”   

“Have you kissed? I mean, _really_ kissed. The one at the wedding doesn’t count.”

“Yes,” Maddie answered, cautiously.

“Did you like that?”

There was a pause. “Yes,” Maddie said again, adding quickly, “That's _different_!”

Rose’s silence rang loud with skepticism. “Well, maybe not so different,” Maddie conceded, remembering Jamie’s delighted surprise when she proved to be more adept at kissing him than she’d ever imagined herself to be.

“He married you because he loved you, Maddie. He _still_ loves you. I could hear it in his tone just now, plain as could be. I saw it in his eyes at your wedding. He’s not going to rape you. Especially if you tell him how you feel, I know he’ll be gentle with you. You just—let things happen. It will be easy. Much easier than you think.” There was a long pause as Maddie contemplated all this, and Rose sighed and her breathing evened as she drifted to sleep.

Perhaps Rose was right, Maddie thought. She lay awake a long time. Her mind raced and she was still hearing Jamie's voice in her ear.

_I can't wait to take you into my arms and know that this time neither of us have to be sent anywhere else, and I can make love to you until we can't possibly stay awake any longer, and then we will wake up in the morning and start all over again._

His transparent longings for her body were not exactly _unwelcome_ , Maddie thought. She did like the way kissing him made her warm and rippling inside, anyway. And she _had_ been very, very sorry to leave him the morning after their wedding.

She remembered it as clearly as it if had been only today. _Has Jamie relived it as often as I have?_ she wondered.

She’d woken that morning when the room became bright all of a sudden—not sunny, just bright—and she'd lain there, disoriented and squinting, until she heard Jamie's voice saying, “Maddie-love, if you want breakfast before you have to catch your train, you'd best be getting out of bed.”

She turned her head and saw him standing by the window, tucking away the cord of the heavy light-obscuring drapes he had just opened, and he was smiling at her. Craig Castle, that's right. She was in Jamie's room at Craig Castle. She sat up and saw that he had covered her with other blankets because she hadn't even turned down the covers when she collapsed there the night before, still in her blouse and skirt, exhausted after the day's festivities.

He came close to her and stroked her cheek. “So sorry for the rude awakening, sweetheart. I've had tea and things sent up here. We haven't much time left, and I didn't want to spend it surrounded by noisy Irregulars."

Then Maddie awakened fully to the realisation that she had completely spent this, their only night together, obliviously sacked out, and she sat up in a flash. “I'm so sorry,” she said, a bit panicky. “I—I didn't mean to fall asleep like that, honest I didn't!”

“Hush, Maddie! We were both pretty useless last night.” He took her hand and led her over to two chairs before the fireplace, with a little table in between, and they set about enjoying their somewhat spare farewell breakfast in quiet solitude. “You aren't the only one. I sat down here to take off my shoes and the next thing I knew it was two in the morning and I was still in my chair. So I climbed into bed, and I forgot you would be there—until I tried to turn down the covers and couldn't, because you were on top of them.” He laughed. “You were out. Pretty sure a pack of wildcats could have been screaming under the window and they'd not have woken you. So I pilfered some blankets from Julie’s room, snuggled up to you, and went right back to sleep.”

“I do remember holding your hand,” Maddie said quietly, “but I think I thought I was dreaming.” She drank her tea in silence for a few minutes, then a cloud settled in her face and she burst out almost fiercely, “I just want to be safe. This uncertainty. I'm just so _tired_ , even after a good night's sleep. I hate that we can't be ordinary people, and I hate that this war is going to tear us apart before we've even had a chance to be alone together, awake, for more time than we have right now.”

He sighed and nodded and his eyes were beautifully bleak, like moody Highland skies, and there was a hint of despair in his voice. “I don't even know when we'll get to see each other again. We really were terribly lucky to just have these few days.”

“I guess we'll be keeping the postman busy," Maddie said. Her voice trembled. “I'll write as much as I can.”

“As will I,” he promised. He stared into his teacup a while, then looked up at her. “I suppose at least this way there’s no chance you’ll have a child. There’s that. I would feel just awful if you were saddled with _that_ all alone.”

He was trying to put a brave face on things, but she could tell that inside he was stinging, and it made her want to cry. She knew how much _he_ had been looking forward to their wedding night.

Jamie didn't go down with Maddie when it was time for her to leave. He couldn’t bear having to share her with anyone else as long as they could stand in the open bedroom doorway alone and just hold each other. There didn't seem to be any more to say. Maddie didn't trust her voice anyway, and Jamie with his hands on her hips was kissing her, turning her knees to jelly.

When they heard the clock strike the hour, they had to whisper goodbyes, share one last lingering kiss, and Maddie tore herself away and retreated quickly down the corridor, eyes downcast, not looking back.

Her heart had been so sore—why, _why_ did she have to go away from him already? They hadn't even been married a full day, and there was the ever-present, real possibility of this being the last time they'd ever see each other. _It wasn't fair._

Beside her, Rose sighed in her sleep and brought Maddie back to the present, and she gave herself a mental shake. Ravensbrück hadn’t been fair, either. Rose had been through hell and come back. The Ormaie Gestapo hadn’t been fair, and Julie had been through hell and was _never_ coming back. Sudden tears flooded her eyes, that she should be so pettily dithering about being a virgin wife scared to be reunited with her husband. She was here, she was alive, she was relatively unscathed, and she had a certain future ahead of her, unlike Julie or Rose—and she stuffed her face in her pillow and mourned for her friends. She forgot Rose was there until she felt her thin arm wrap around her. No words were spoken, but Maddie suddenly remembered holding her own distraught Julie that one night long ago, and she thought, _The Aerodrome Dropoff Principle is still alive,_ and she fell asleep at last, still sniffing, still securely in Rose’s embrace.

 

**12 August 1945**

**Stockport**

“Today it has been a year,” Maddie said to the photograph she held. The morning light streamed through her bedroom window, and as she looked at her own and Jamie’s happy wedding day faces, a wave of loneliness cascaded over her, and she wanted nothing more than to cry.

She’d just been released from the ATA, and now she was home in Stockport. Except that it wasn’t going to _be_ her home much longer, and she felt very, very emotional thinking that this time she really was leaving for good, and not coming back to live here ever again. It hadn’t really occurred to her before, even having been away as much as she’d been throughout the war. It was only a matter of time now before Jamie would be home too, and she just wanted to be settled.

Beryl had asked her to come over for lunch, and she was dreading this a little too. She wanted to see Beryl, of course, but mostly she just wanted Jamie.

Her moodiness cast a shadow over the breakfast table. Even when her grandparents wished her a happy anniversary, she felt only slightly better. What good was an anniversary without her husband here to share it with? She thanked them, but she saw the sympathy in their eyes and knew they weren’t fooled by her politeness.

She flopped down on the couch listlessly after breakfast and stared out the open window a while. She had just decided she was going to go for a mad tear on her bike before seeing Beryl when the telephone rang. A moment later, Gran called to her. Hope sprang in her heart and she fairly flew to the phone.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she heard Jamie’s voice. “I’ve been in a funk since I woke up. I was going to call you anyway, but I decided I wouldn’t wait any longer.”

“So have I,” she said. “Not now though. I’m _so_ glad you called.”

They talked for a long time, and Maddie’s heart lightened with every minute. He missed her too. They could be lonely together in separate countries, he said, which made Maddie laugh in spite of herself.

When they had said goodbye, she hung up the phone reverently. No time for a ride now, but she didn’t care anymore. She set out to Beryl’s house with a happier mind.

Beryl only had Sundays off work, and these were filled with home duties. Her husband, Henry, had been injured during the Manchester Blitz and could no longer work. So now he stayed home with the children, and she had gone back to the mill. Maddie was surprised and troubled at how tired and strained and just _drab_ Beryl looked, despite her happiness at being reunited with her friend. They had not seen each other since before Maddie left for Maidsend.

Maddie spent the afternoon helping Beryl clean the house and do the wash. The three kiddies were all under five, and their father was limited in his abilities.

“He’s a bit shellshocked,” Beryl explained in a whisper as they hung the clothes up to dry. “He’s always been a bit slow, since.”

“What _happened_?” Maddie asked, also in a whisper.

“Well, you remember he was an air raid warden. One time he was herding some lost children to a shelter during a raid, and a bomb dropped real close. Killed all three kids, they exploded right in front of him, and the blast shattered his leg. He was lucky to escape with that, really. He tried to go back to work, but he can’t bend that knee any more, so he can’t get around very well, and he’s never been able to get the sight of those children out of his head either. He’s very protective of ours. Maybe too much so. He doesn’t like to leave the house. He’s afraid of seeing the dead children. But he’s a good man. Always has been.”

But Maddie saw the sadness behind the smile Beryl gave her, and knew that the loss of the man she had married had affected her more than she was willing to let on. Life had not turned out for Beryl quite as she had hoped, but she was putting a brave face to it and carrying on anyway.

She went home that evening feeling sober and thoughtful and very, very thankful and lucky that the war had not done to Jamie the seemingly irreparable damage it had done to Henry.

 

Maddie stayed up late into the night, curled up in her bed with her box of letters from Jamie, reading them all, from the very first letter he ever sent to her to the one she’d just received last week. They were a great comfort to her. His writing style was one way in which he was vastly different from Julie—he was more likely to waste paper with technical drawings than dramatising hilariously about things—but at the same time he was still rather sentimental and said plenty of adoring, pretty things that made her feel very loved.

 

_Thank you for the lovely pullover. Knowing how much you hate wasting time knitting makes me treasure every stitch as if it was a kiss, and when I wear it I can imagine it is really your loving sacrifice, not the wool, that warms me. Nobody else in the squadron got a better Christmas gift than mine, and that is the truth._

 

_The moon was bright tonight, but not as bright as the gleam in your lovely eyes when I tease you and you get so sweetly, gorgeously self-conscious and scold me with no threat in your voice whatsoever. You are so adorable and precious, and I am terribly lonely, and I miss you terribly._

 

_It is a miserable, unflyable night that promises to turn into an unflyable day, and the other lads have gone to get drunk and possibly also laid. They laughed at me for declining to come along, but despite the fact that the notion of female company is very tempting, I know I could never look you in the face again if I slept with another woman, so I am sitting by myself writing to you instead. We are all more than a little jealous of Nick for having a wife actually here with him. Lucky dog._

 

 _When the war is over and nobody can police your hair anymore, will you please let it grow out?  I dreamed last night that you were leaning over me in my little bed here, and the ends of your hair brushed against my skin, and it felt_ so _lovely. It made me think of that one painting by Waterhouse—perhaps you know it? Mother has a copy hanging in her room—and in the dream I wanted nothing more than for you to capture me with your hair like in the painting and to feel your warm and willing body against mine. And then I was woken up by a bang outside, and the cold and lonely darkness of my room was almost more than I could bear. I want you_ so much _, Maddie, sometimes it actually hurts._

 

The time dragged slowly by for the next month and a half. Maddie was frightfully restless, and she went to the shop every day with Granddad to work with him there because her nervous pacing and fussing about the house was making Gran crazy.

One Saturday morning in September, Maddie began turning her room upside down, deciding what she was going to take with her to Scotland, but soon she forgot the immediate task in waves of nostalgia.

She was not a magpie like Julie, whose room at Craig Castle was full of twenty-one years’ worth of often-shiny hoarded treasures. Maddie’s possessions were comparatively few, and Gran had never let her bring her beloved engine parts into the house, so all that was up here were two radios she’d built years ago, the noisy but comforting old brass alarm clock that had been her father’s, and a few books—mostly ones Julie had lent to her. Instead of film stars on the walls, there were travel posters with bikes and aeroplanes. Her childhood toys, except for one stuffed cat and a working steam train that had been her greatest joy, had long ago been given new homes.

The cat was a funny little thing, made of grey corduroy, with a now-faded pink bow around its neck, and black button eyes. It used to have thread whiskers, but they had long ago worn away. As long as she had been alive, this cat had lived on her bed, even after she was too old to drag it around by its ear anymore. Gran had told her that her mother had made it for her before she was born.

Maddie did not remember her mother, and the subject of her death was not something the family ever discussed. When she was fourteen, Maddie asked Gran to tell her about her mother, and Gran, who did not always volunteer information but was always truthful when asked directly, did.

They’d been in the back garden weeding the flowerbeds. Gran sat back on her heels and looked at Maddie with a sad fondness.

“She died shortly after you were born,” Gran said. “She was always a bit delicate. She went to hospital because she was suddenly seriously ill. The doctors said she had blood poisoning and did a caesarean to save you. She was too weak and her heart just gave out. It killed her so quickly. We were all shocked, but especially your dad. He didn’t even get to see her. They didn’t tell him until she was already gone, and he never forgave the doctors for that.”

“Did she ever hold me?” Maddie asked.

“They wouldn’t let her. They were afraid to, because she was in such a bad way.”

The thought of her mother dying surrounded by strangers, unable to say goodbye to her father, and not even allowed to cradle her newborn daughter, had haunted Maddie ever since, leaving her with a miserably hollow ache—when she allowed herself to think of it. Most of the time she did not. Her mother was a phantom shadow lurking, not ominous, but not exactly comforting either.

“What was she like?” Maddie had asked.

“Little and pretty and merry. You’re more like your dad in most ways, but you have her eyes and her curls. And her name, of course, though it was your dad who insisted we call you Maddie, not Margaret. He wanted to honour her memory, but not have to be reminded of your mum every time he said your name.”

Maddie curled up in a ball on her bed now, remembering that conversation as if it had happened yesterday, hugging her stuffed cat, the single physical link to the mother she never knew, and sobbed until she fell asleep.

She woke a few hours later and jumped up, thinking she would be late for something, then remembered she had nowhere to go, and she lay back down with her cat and reached for the wedding photo on her nightstand again. It was a truly beautiful picture, and it always made her smile to see it. She closed her eyes and fancied she could hear Jamie’s voice and feel his arms around her like they had been in the photograph.

After a few minutes, she got up, determined to do _something_ to distract herself. She began to choose what clothes to take along, only to realise with some dismay that she didn’t really _have_ many civilian clothes that were not in an appalling state of disarray. She decided that whenever she went to meet Jamie, she’d at least have her best suit to wear, and bother about everything else. She’d just have to get some new clothes later.

And then, feeling distinctly edgy and unsettled, she took the Silent Superb out into the hills alone and didn’t come back until dark.

When she got home, Granddad had a message for her.

“Jamie telephoned. He’s home. He wants you to come meet him tomorrow.”

Maddie’s face lit up like sunrise, and she dropped everything and ran straight to the phone and called the castle.

 

Maddie lay awake a long time that night in her little bed, holding her cat, attempting to wrap her head around how drastically her world was about to change. She had been restlessly waiting for so long to live with her husband, and now that it was really happening _tomorrow_ she was faced afresh with her old nagging fears and nerves.

_She wouldn’t be sleeping alone tomorrow night._

After a while she got out of bed, wrapped her blanket around her, and sat in her chair by the window.

She was not as afraid as she had once been, it was true. The night before their wedding she had been wound up so tight that she cringed now at the mere memory of her ungraceful, stupid self.

They hadn’t had a chance to be alone at all, all day long—whether by coincidence or design, Maddie never knew—but when bedtime came, Jamie walked with her to her room just to seize the few minutes of solitude it would grant them. They stood facing each other, close, in front of her door.

He reached out unexpectedly and laid his hand against her face. The touch was light and genteel, but the way he was looking into her eyes made it seem so intimate that she blushed and glanced away.

“I want it to be tomorrow night _now_ ,” he said, and there was such longing in his tone and in his eyes that Maddie pressed her palms flat against the door behind her, seeking to brace herself against a sudden onset of involuntary trembling.

“Maddie, Maddie, I _love_ you.” His voice was soft and his lips caressed her face lightly while he breathed in the scent of her recently-washed hair. And suddenly Maddie became vividly, awkwardly conscious of her body in a way that she had not been since she was thirteen and abruptly began turning into a woman. She felt his warmth easily through the light fabric of her blouse, felt her breasts pressing against him as he held her. It startled her a bit and made her feel almost indecent, and she realised she had never _been_ in his arms before without multiple layers of jacket and tunic between her body and his, like protective armor. His arms about her were so firm and his mouth on hers was so warm, and her nervous trembling became so violent that she could no longer keep it in check. In a panic she reached for her doorknob and gripped it to steady herself, but it turned in her grasp and the door opened and she stumbled backwards. He caught her and looked at her closely.

“I’m a mess of nerves.” Maddie forced a laugh, trying to sound casual, trying to keep her teeth from chattering in her head. But she failed. She knew sinkingly that _he_ knew she was terrified, and without thinking she heard herself ask, “Do you—do you want to—” She caught herself and couldn’t finish. She turned her head from him and weakly fluttered her hand in the direction of her bed. He _had_ said he wanted her, after all, and they were _almost_ married. She waited for him to answer, not daring to look at him, afraid he would take the opportunity she had so brainlessly handed him.

He turned her face back to his and regarded her with a peculiar expression. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and kind. “No, my darling. If bedding you was all I wanted from you, there’ve been half a dozen times I could have had you already. You’d have been very easy to take for a ride, if I was that sort of man. I would like to think I am _not_ that sort of man.” He lifted her hands to his lips, never taking his eyes off hers. “I can wait one more night.”

 _So can I_ , she thought, relieved. “You _are_ better than that,” she said, her voice sounding choked and stupid in her ears. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be afraid of me, Maddie, please,” he whispered. “I love you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded, wordless, smiling faintly. She turned quickly into her room, shutting the door between them, and she ran to the window, leant out, and was gracelessly sick onto the climbing roses beneath her.

 

Gran and Granddad had no idea that she was so scared. They would see her off on the train tomorrow, thinking her a Composed and Confident and Grown-Up Married Lady. Rose knew she was afraid; she had tried in Paris to help Maddie feel less afraid, and it _had_ helped.

But it had been Esmé, strangely enough, who had done the most to calm her. Esmé, whom Maddie even now felt she barely knew, but at the time of the wedding had been an almost total stranger.

After Maddie had finished humiliating the roses and she had hung out the window to breathe deeply of the cool air a while, she put on her pyjamas and got in bed. But she was still jittering shamefully in dread and panic and kicking herself for being so _gormless_ always, and she wanted reassurance and comfort _so_ much that she actually got out of bed and went to Esmé’s door and knocked, timidly, half-hoping the lady wouldn’t hear. But Esmé did hear, and she opened the door and saw Maddie’s distress and promptly took her in hand. She stepped into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.

“Whatever is the matter, darling? Here, I’ll come to your room and we can talk there.” She put her arm around Maddie’s waist as they walked down the hall, and they sat together on her bed—Maddie against the headboard, hugging her knees tightly, still shaking, staring at Esmé silently a while, thinking fleetingly and pointlessly that she was so lovely, and that Julie would certainly have grown old with the same grace and elegance that Esmé possessed. She was facing Maddie, cross-legged, as casually as though she was still a young girl herself and they were schoolmates having a perfectly ordinary sleepover. Her ashy blonde hair was loose over her shoulders—long and gleaming like Julie’s—and she looked so drastically different from the poised and pristine daytime Esmé—

“Tell me,” Esmé prompted. “What can I do for you?”

Maddie actually jumped, jerked out of her momentarily distracting reverie. “I’m scared,” she said.

Esmé reached out and laid her hand on Maddie’s. “Darling, it’s going to be all right. It will be a beautiful wedding and the beginning of great things.”

“Not of that,” Maddie said, stumbling awkwardly over her words. “Not so much, anyway. It’s tomorrow _night_ —I’m so—I don’t know what I’m getting into—or how—oh, I’m just gormless.”

Esmé squinted at Maddie—so _very_ like Julie. “Am I correct in understanding that you are referring to sex?”

Maddie’s mouth dropped open at the unexpected frankness from a lady of such Refinement and Elegance. “Well, yes,” she said, slowly.

Esmé eyed her appraisingly. “Well, if you tell me what you do know,” she said, “I will fill in the blanks for you.”

Maddie swallowed, blushing and stammering clumsily. “I know what men look like. I’ve been to museums and seen—” she stopped, trying hard to not sound like a complete idiot. “The girls at school used to whisper about it, and I _hated_ listening. It made me feel dirty inside to think of letting some man see me naked or put his—” She took another deep breath. “Gran told me about girl things when I was thirteen and got my period, but nothing about _that_. I didn’t ask. I felt dead ashamed to be asking about something I didn’t even want anything to do with.”

Esmé sighed. “Well, Things One Hears Whispered in School are not generally very reliable, so you can safely disregard most of that kind of information. There is _nothing_ about sex to be ashamed of, Maddie. It is intimate and private and very personal, yes, but _not_ intrinsically shameful. Some of us rather enjoy it, in fact.”

“Does Jamie know how to?” Maddie asked, timidly.

“He does,” she answered promptly. “His father talked to him years ago. I insisted that all our children know _before_ they went away to school. I wanted them to be able to responsibly take care of themselves, as well as anyone they ever went around with. Boys are not exempt from being taken advantage of by unscrupulous men, unfortunately. So yes, Jamie knows. I have never enquired whether he’s ever actually put said knowledge to use—he is an adult and it’s not my business—but he does know.”

“Well, then, I suppose we’ll get along all right,” Maddie said slowly, her face drawn in thought.

“You will get along fine. But I shall stay here until I am satisfied that _you_ are properly educated too, because you are about to be a married woman, and you deserve to be prepared for what lies ahead of you.” And she proceeded, very conversationally, to tell Maddie everything.

Maddie alternately stared wide-eyed and hid behind her hair until Esmé had finished. “Does it hurt?” she heard herself ask, a bit squeakily.

“It might the first time. Afterwards, not usually.” Esmé looked at Maddie closely. The girl looked as if she might be sick again, and she smiled encouragingly. “Believe me, darling, it works out _fine_. I was scared too. A lot of girls are. But when it actually comes to it, you will not be thinking about all this. You will be carried away by new feelings, and you will like them because they are wonderful, and then none of your fears will seem so important anymore. If you love each other, and I have no doubts that you do, it will be a Good Thing.”

Maddie sat thoughtfully a while, and Esmé stood up and stepped close to tuck her in and kiss her goodnight, as lovingly and naturally as if Maddie was little again and her own. “Think you can sleep now?” she asked, brushing the hair away from Maddie’s face.

Maddie nodded. “Thank you,” she said, shyly, and Esmé smiled as she turned out the light and left Maddie in the quiet darkness.

Now, sitting in the dark again in her own room at home, Maddie took comfort in remembering Esmé’s assurances. She was still scared and skeptical that she could ever possibly enjoy that kind of intimacy, but she _did_ love Jamie, and she _did_ so want to make him happy.


	3. Thing Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If mischievous clothing thievery is triggery for you, consider this your trigger warning: THIS THING CONTAINS CLOTHING THIEVERY.

**23 September 1945**

**Aberdeenshire**   

The sky and land were golden when Maddie’s train pulled up and stopped at the Castle Craig station in the early afternoon. She was the only one on board, and she had been pressed against the window like an eager child for the last fifteen minutes.

When she did at last catch sight of Jamie, she ran down the car to the door and practically jumped into his waiting arms, almost before the train had stopped. He swung her around, while she whispered frantically, “Put me _down_ , you lunatic, the stationmaster is watching!”

But she was beaming at him while she said it.

He laughed and set her back on her feet, holding her out at arm’s length, just drinking her in with his eyes. It was the first time he'd ever seen her out of uniform, in clothes that actually fit her properly, and she looked so different and lovely now, but no less sensible, in her tweed suit and brown felt hat, adorned with a single feather. They were not new, but that was no surprise to him.

He clasped her to him again. “I had quite a time of it, getting away without Ross and Jock trying to sneak into the car and come along,” he said with a laugh. “I swear those two are as conniving as they come and won’t ever grow up. Mother finally managed to get them occupied with something else. I'm not even going to risk taking you back home, we're just going straight to—where we're going.”

“Which is?” asked Maddie.

“Secret!” he said, his eyes glinting with merriment. “Secret and very, very secluded. How many bags do you have with you?”

“Just this one,” she said.

He slung her bag over his shoulder and his other arm held her close to his side as they walked to his car. In a few minutes they were off in a northwesterly direction.

They said little to each other at first while they drove. In spite of their avid letter-writing and the few phone calls, there was so much time between them to cover that it seemed difficult to engage in casual conversation, but the silence was full and comfortable. Sometimes they were stopped by a herd of sheep, and whilst they waited to be able to go on, Jamie would lay his hand on her knee and smile at her. Once she asked again where they were going, and he again refused to divulge anything. “But you’ll like it!” he promised.

They had driven about half an hour when he stopped in a little country village. “I thought we might walk a bit,” he said. “And have some dinner, if you’re game.”

Maddie readily agreed. Hand in hand she and Jamie wandered down the street, peering into the shop windows. Almost everything was shut because it was Sunday, but there were plenty of windows to look in. Jamie laughed at her because she bypassed all the windows with hats and frocks with little more than a glance, but spent plenty of time examining hobnailed shoes and engine parts and tools.

They got to the end of the main street where a pub was and sat down. The atmosphere of their little corner was intimate, but Maddie felt very safe, knowing that Jamie would not be overly demonstrative in a public setting. They had eased into more conversation during their window-shopping walk, and Maddie’s nerves were under control so that she could eat without fear of being sick. She saw he was wearing the navy pullover she’d knitted for him in all her spare moments between their wedding and last Christmas, that had tried her patience to the utmost and been liberally baptised with her tears of frustration and worry. “It looks well on you,” she said softly, half-shy of mentioning it. “I was so afraid that after all my blood, sweat, and tears, it wouldn’t fit, or something.”

“It fits perfectly,” he said simply. “And I love it, because it is from you.”

He was very clearly nothing but elated to be reunited, and Maddie hoped desperately that _maybe_ she would not feel utterly paralysed with fright when they had to get down to business later. Maybe they could put it off until morning. _That_ thought cheered her so much that she said sincerely, “I’m _so_ glad to be here with you.”

“Me too,” he agreed happily. “Shall we be on our way? We haven’t much farther to go, but I’d like to get there before dark.”

“All right,” she said agreeably, and they walked back to their car.

The country roads were quiet, and the longer they drove, the fewer other cars and houses they passed. Jamie couldn’t hold her hand whilst driving—he needed all his available fingers for the task—but Maddie leant her head on his shoulder and watched the countryside glide by. After another half-hour, Jamie stopped the car at a gate set in a waist-high stone wall, and got out to unlock it and let Maddie drive the car through. He closed the gate behind them, then took the wheel again. The drive was long, going past a deserted gatehouse, over little hills and around a bend, and lined on either side by untamed shrubs and thick-trunked oaks just beginning to put on their autumn flame. At last they came in sight of a stone house.

It was a beautiful place, with a scattering of laden apple trees on the south end of the garden and entirely circled by more of the same great oaks that flanked the drive.

“Here's our wee honeymoon cottage,” said Jamie, parking the car.

“That is not a _cottage_!” she objected. “It’s bigger than any house I’ve ever lived in!”

“When you grow up in a castle,” he drawled, “it’s a cottage.”

She smiled and shook her head, but didn't argue with him. It was a charming house, and she was already quite in love with it, even though she hadn't seen the inside yet.

He jumped out and unlocked the front door, and before long they had brought in all their things from the car and set them inside.

Maddie didn’t go in right away. She stood on the threshold, looking out at the beautiful trees. The breeze toyed with her hair, her face glowed with delight. It was so quiet; even the ruffling of the oak leaves was little more than a sigh.

Jamie stepped up behind her and whispered in her ear, “No moon pilots! No little brothers! No station-master! _We are finally alone,_ Mrs Beaufort-Stuart.” His eyes snapped with mischievous sparkle. He pulled her in behind him and closed the door, turning the key in the lock despite the fact that there was not another soul anywhere near to walk in.

The air inside the place was heavy with chill. Downstairs, on one side of the hall, was the kitchen and dining room, and on the other was a parlor and another room, but Maddie didn't explore any of them just then. She followed Jamie up the main stairs to a lovely bedroom that seemed to Maddie to be as big as the ground floor of her Stockport home—a curious blend of eighteenth century elegance with the relatively recent additions of cast-iron radiators and twenty-year-old sofas and armchairs and electric lights. The bed was a sturdy oak four-poster, probably a hundred years old, similar to Jamie's at Craig Castle, only this one had once had curtains.

Jamie set about starting a fire, because the radiator would take a long time to lift the chill on its own. Maddie took off her shoes and laid her hat and jacket carefully over the back of one of the chairs.  She reached to turn down the bedcovers, but snatched her hand back suddenly in a moment of panic and decided against it. She unpacked and arranged things, and poked around the other upstairs rooms on the other side of the landing (there were three smaller bedrooms there, all covered in dust sheets, and another bathroom). She flipped the light switches on and off and tried all the lamps. The one on the nightstand in their room didn't work, so she sat down on the edge of the bed and proceeded to take it apart, just to keep her hands busy.

Her heart began pounding in her throat as, out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jamie in his chair discarding his jacket and other trappings and undoing various fastenings until he had reached a satisfactory comfort level. Then he leant his fair head back, closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

For a long time—or maybe it was five minutes, she had no idea really—Jamie sat there, by all appearances as much relaxed as she was not, and seemingly asleep.

“Will you stop fiddling with that thing and come over and sit with me?”

The lamp hit the rug with a dull thud as his voice startled her from her task. “I thought you were asleep,” she said weakly.

“Not I. Not tonight.” He beckoned her with a nod, his smile warm and his eyes alight. “Come on. I haven’t even kissed you properly yet!”

She moved towards him slowly, twisting her hands behind her back, and sat primly on the edge of the chair he indicated.

Seeing her reluctance to move things along, he dragged his chair close to hers, took her anxious hands, and asked, “What’s the trouble, darling?”

“I'm scared out of my mind!” Maddie exclaimed, unceremoniously.

“I could tell that,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face. “You always are at the prospect of coming to bed with me. But why?” His eyes fixed on hers. The jollity in them was tempered with a tenderness that invited confidence.

She looked down. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, feeling foolish. “Knowing how to do something in your head isn’t at _all_ the same as—”

“Maddie.” He lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes again.

“I’ll be a terrible disappointment. You know what you’re doing! I don’t!”

“Maddie,” he said again, and his voice was low and serious. “I only have experience up to a point, remember?” He paused, and kissed her hands, and looked at her with clear and longing eyes. “I do know I am madly in love with you, and I have waited for you so long, and I want you _so_ desperately.”

“But I haven’t seen you in over a year! We’re practically strangers!”

He couldn’t help laughing a bit at that. “So we are. Well, we will start just where we left off,” he said, determined, pulling her to her feet. “I had my hands on your hips, like this—and I was kissing you—” He demonstrated. “This is the morning after our wedding all over again, only this time the clock won’t tell us you have to go and put an end to everything.” He was whispering the words against her face. “This time, I will not have to slam the door of my room in fury after you’ve gone because the blasted war cheated me out of making love to my bride. This time—”

She hid her face in his neck for a minute, then he lifted her face up again. “This time _nothing_ is going to stand in our way.” He kissed her, sweetly, deliberately, one arm tightening around her and the other sliding the zipper of her skirt down. Her heart jumped to her throat again, and in a panic she pulled back and blurted out one last fear, the one that was truer than all the others.

“And I’m afraid I won’t like it and spend the rest of my life feeling guilty of depriving you of something you want so badly!”

He took a deep breath and held still a moment, as if reluctant to address this one. Finally he whispered into her hair.

“It would require a strength I cannot fathom at this particular moment, but I will find it if I must.” Then, “Do you mind—at least this once—so you know for sure whether you really don’t like it?”

He had not released his hold of her, and Maddie, whose eyes were closed, suddenly sensed his heart was hammering as much as hers and felt his lips trembling against her face. She felt herself melting into him and her skirt slipped down onto the floor. She remembered how kind and respectful and devoted he had always been to her, and Esmé’s words, “You will be carried away by new feelings, and you will like them because they are wonderful _._ ” They _were_ nice. Breathless and intense, but _very_ nice.

“Fair enough,” she whispered.

He went on kissing her, whispering her name again and again between kisses. “Oh,” breathed Maddie, her knees weakening. He swept her up and carried her across the room, and she sank back into the soft coverlet of the bed. A delightful warmth curled up inside her, melting away the fear that had been freezing her. She liked those flutters so much she hardly noticed when he unbuttoned her blouse and dropped it to the floor beside his shirt.

He wrapped the eiderdown around them, and when a little later she gasped and pulled away, he held still, framing her face lightly with his hands. “Do you want me to stop?”

She hesitated to answer.

“I want you to tell me if anything I do hurts you. That is the last thing I want to do.”

“It does hurt,” she confessed, almost in tears. “I—I wish it didn't. I'm sorry!”

He lay down beside her and put his arm around her. “Stop apologising!” he scolded her, quite earnestly. “I don’t want you to just endure silently on my behalf.” He ran the backs of his fingers down her side and his tone softened. “I will not rush you. I promise.”

Maddie forgot everything else, completely lost in the dream. The firelight filled the room with a low, warm, rippling, golden glow, and her mind, wavering between sleep and wakefulness, didn't even think about being self-conscious at what his careful, deliberate fingers were doing to her. She made free with her kisses—she wasn’t shy about kissing him—as the fire faded to embers and the darkness around them deepened. The silvery half-moon rose and its light timidly peeked through the window, but neither of them noticed or cared. Occasionally she would catch her breath sharply, but it didn’t hurt as much now and she really _didn’t_ want him to stop. She felt hot and alight and realised that she _needed_ to be taken and never mind if it hurt, and she whispered fiercely, “Now.”

His patient preparation had not been for nothing. She felt her entire body suddenly seem to open up to him and she clung to him in sheer shuddering ecstasy.

She smiled, exhaling deeply, head still spinning as she sank back into the pile of pillows, stunned and slightly giddy. “Jamie,” she whispered shyly. “ _Jamie_.”

He nestled up to her. “You are so lovely, Maddie.” Her face warmed under his lips and he whispered, “Finally really, truly mine.”

“Don't let me go, Jamie.” All tension dissolved now, sleepy and content, she was happy to just Be, secure in this new bond.

He held her close. “Never.”

 

In the middle of the morning, Maddie woke. She sat up, quickly and self-consciously pulling up the sheet around herself while she reached to the floor for her clothes, but they weren't where she thought Jamie had dropped them.

She shot a glance toward Jamie, who was standing at the window with his hands behind his back, surveying the scenery with studied oblivion. She shook her head, sighing, as she pulled the sheet off the bed with her, wrapping herself as best she could. It trailed along after her as she went downstairs to the kitchen and poked about in the cupboards looking for a teakettle.

She found it after a few minutes and put it on the stove to boil. Jamie appeared in the doorway and joined her in foraging. Esmé had insisted on sending along a hamper of things to feed them with. He hovered close to Maddie, partly from necessity—the kitchen was rather full of stray tables and chairs—but mostly just waiting for that perfect moment when she walked away from him to get teacups from the shelf and he could step on the hem of her sheet, which was coming rather undone. She squealed loudly as it fell to the floor, but he intercepted it before she could either reclaim it or run away. His eyes twinkled with impish merriment as he pulled her in for a kiss with one arm and held the sheet out of her reach with the other, and she forgot everything else until the teakettle screamed for attention and startled them both.

She put the kettle on a tray and made a snatch for the sheet. “All right, Mr Beaufort-Stuart, my sheet back, please.”

He winked, retreating a few steps. “Nope.”

“What have you done with my other clothes?” She held out the tray to him to take upstairs, hoping he'd let go of the sheet, but he didn't. He slung it over one shoulder, took the tray, and went up the stairs with her running after, always just out of her reach. When he set the tray down, he walked over to an old walnut wardrobe and opened it, leaning in and rifling about.

Hoping perhaps he was getting her her things, she sat down and waited expectantly, hugging a small pillow from her chair in an attempt to cover herself.

“Here, this will be fabulous, Queen Maddie,” he said, emerging with a grey and red paisley shawl. She started to ask again where her things were and he shut her up with a kiss. He dropped to one knee in front of her chair.

He intended to wrap her in the shawl right away but he found he couldn't take his eyes off her—slender and straight as an aspen, pale in the thin morning light coming into the room, the untamed curls around her face lending her a slightly wild look. But it was her eyes that held his attention the most, her soft, serious, slightly self-conscious eyes. “I want my clothes, you lunatic,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

She was not very convincing.

He wrapped the shawl around her and fussed with it a while, arranging and rearranging it, and finally pinning it closed in front with his kilt pin. It slid off one shoulder and halfway down her arm, and he kissed her there. She shivered happily and he cocked his head to admire his handiwork. “It looks lovely. I propose you wear it every day.”

She shook her head.

Still on his knees, he reached for his teacup, holding it up in a toast. “Thank you, Mother,” Jamie said enthusiastically, as if she was right there. “You have thought of everything. A good breakfast is just what we needed after a long night of—”

“Shush,” Maddie interjected, silencing him by snatching up a slice of her apple and poking it into his mouth.

He reached up and stroked her hair away from her face. “I will not shush. We’re _married,_ Maddie. Besides, Mother isn’t actually here to hear me.”

She giggled. “I _know_ , Jamie! I don't mind—I’m just—It’s one thing to become used to being The Honourable Mrs Beaufort-Stuart in name, but—well, the rest of it will take some time to sink in. All this time I’ve never really felt _married_. So strange to suddenly be addressed as Mrs, but not have anything else in my life change, you know?”

He nodded. “I know. I felt the same way, really. I didn’t have _anything_ change. Except my ring, which isn’t obviously a wedding ring.”

She reached for his hand and raised it to her lips. “Can I have my clothes back now?”

He did not answer that. “Here’s a toast to you, sweetheart,” he said. “To my wife, who looks amazing in tweed, a paisley shawl, or—nothing at all.” He set the cup down again and put his arms around her, leaning his cheek against her bare arm and closing his eyes contentedly.

 

Most of the rest of the day passed in a blissful haze of love, sleep, and forgetting to finish breakfast. In the late afternoon, Jamie relented at last and produced Maddie's missing clothes so they could go walking outside. Hand in hand, down the long drive westward and across open fields, Jamie pointing out the bounds of the estate (it consisted, among other things, of a number of long-neglected oat fields that were now being used by the neighbours to graze sheep; a sizeable garden, neglected and overgrown; and a barn constructed of the same stone as the house, with large double doors). They made a long leisurely circle back around to a small hill to the east of the house, where there were some more apple trees. Jamie sat down under one of them, and she lay her head on his lap, the faded wool of his favourite kilt soft and warm and comforting against her face. One of the branches draped so low he could reach up and take some of the apples. He handed one to Maddie. She didn’t eat hers right away; she was too comfortable where she was and didn't want to sit up quite yet. The countryside to the west was dotted with trees and fields and flocks of sheep; little Cairhead barely visible to the south, and to the east they had a fine view of the North Sea, with little in between but open space. Everything was so quiet. It felt like they were at the centre of the world.

Jamie was enjoying the scenery too, but a little less distant than the scenery Maddie was surveying. He simply couldn't get enough of the sight of _her_ , her warmth, her reality, her tranquil pensive face, the pretty little hands wrapped around her apple. He had waited such a long time for her, and he knew there was not likely to be another chance soon for them to be so completely alone. Once they were back at the castle, they would still be together, of course, but life would go on surrounded by the rest of the family, and quiet unhurried times like these would not be as frequent. He ran his fingers through her windblown curls, just savouring everything, until it started to get chilly, and they got up to walk back to the house before it got too dark. Maddie ate her apple on the walk back, and neither of them said much. They were both too full of placid content to find room for words.

Just after they got back, Maddie climbed into bed and was asleep almost immediately. She didn’t stir at all when Jamie joined her a little later, or when he gently kissed her cheek goodnight.

The wind had picked up outside and it began to rain hard. The sound of both lulled him to sleep quickly, but then he was jarred awake by the wind whipping branches sharply against the window and Maddie bolting upright and screaming.

“No, I won’t do it, I can’t do it, _don’t make me_!”

She stuffed her fist into her mouth, sobbing. He sat up beside her and held her close, rocking her and murmuring. “You’re dreaming, darling. It’s a dream. I’m here. It’s all right.”

After a few minutes she stopped shaking so violently, although she was still crying desperately. “What were you dreaming?” he asked, his voice low and soothing. “Tell me?”

“Gunfire,” she choked out, with some difficulty. “I have—I have a gun in my hand and I have to kill someone because something horrible is happening to them. Sometimes it’s been Gran or Granddad, sometimes it’s even you. This time it was Beryl. I hate the dreams. I hate them. _I hate them._ ”

“Reliving what happened to our Julie?” He held her closer.

“I think so,” she said, her voice still catching. “Sometimes the dream is exactly what happened that night, with her. I wake up _screaming_. It was worst earlier this year when I was worried sick about Rose, sometimes more than once in a night, but it hasn’t completely gone away. The last time was about a month ago. I see everything like it’s real and I wake up shaking and I can’t even talk or think, just cry and cry until I'm so drained I can't feel anything anymore.” She sighed deeply, and he held her trembling hands with one of his to still them. “I didn’t ever write you about it, because it scared me just thinking about it even in the daytime, and I didn’t want you worrying. I thought maybe it would stop. But it hasn’t, yet.”   

“Oh, sweetheart. I wish I could take all of that away from you.” He kissed her cheek and rested his chin on her shoulder. Then after a minute he whispered helpfully, “I dream sometimes about being stranded in the sea, but usually I just wake up to find all my blankets are on the floor.”

She laughed a tiny bit in spite of herself, wiping her teary face with the edge of the blankets. “I am so glad I have you, Jamie. I will always feel like I still have a little bit of Julie as long as I have you.”

Soon she drifted back to sleep, still in his arms, but he was wide awake, thinking about another dream of Maddie’s, and he had an idea. He managed to disentangle himself from her without waking her, and then quietly he left the room, closing the bedroom door behind him, to go downstairs to the telephone.

 

In her lavish Cheshire home, Dympna Wythenshawe was just about to go to bed when she heard the telephone ring in the hall. She poked her head out her bedroom door to see if anyone else was going to answer it, but nobody appeared, and it didn’t stop ringing. With a bit of a sigh, she went to answer it herself.

“Hello,” she said lazily.

“Dympna! Is that you?”

“Yes. It is me. It is also almost two in the morning—”

“This is Jamie Beaufort-Stuart. Maddie's husband,” he interrupted. “I need—”

“Why on earth are you calling me at nearly two in the morning?” she interrupted back. “Is somebody dying?”

“I need your Puss Moth,” he said.

“My Puss Moth,” she repeated, after a pause. “Are you crazy, or drunk, or both?”

“I’m not crazy, and I’m not drunk! Don't hang up, I’m trying to be quiet because Maddie’s asleep upstairs—” and he proceeded to tell her exactly what he had in mind.

He kept talking and solving all her many objections until finally she interrupted him, “All right, all right, you can _have_ _the Puss Moth_. But for crying out loud, don’t call me at two in the morning about it next time!” And she hung up on him before he could say anything else, and went to find the butler to give him an earful for not having been there to field the call.

 

In the morning it was overcast, but it had stopped raining, and Maddie was awake early. Jamie was still dead asleep, so she borrowed his coat and went down to the kitchen for a basket and then out to the garden.

Climbing up into one of the apple trees, she balanced the basket against her knees and started filling it with apples. Halfway through her task, she leant her back against the branch and looked at the clouds, their folds of darkness and light tinged with peach and gold and deep blue. The birds were singing, but nothing else could be heard, and she felt so happy and free. It still seemed unreal that she wasn't just on a short leave—that no more airplanes needed to be transported, no more agents needed dropping off. That chapter had closed, and a little bit of wistfulness crept into her face, not knowing when she would get to fly again, but this new life opening up before her was full of promise too. She could hardly wait to find out what lay ahead for them now that they could live like ordinary married people.

They had written volumes to each other about what they were doing _now_ , but had seldom spoken of the future, as if it was too sacred a hope to talk of lightly. Occasionally one or the other of them had touched on it, but it had mostly been a sort of vague unknown, and now that that future was actually upon them, Maddie wondered how they would get along. She still fretted about her own lack of Skills. She didn't even know much about managing a house, aside from half-heartedly observing her grandmother and having been compelled to learn some basic survival skills in the kitchen. She'd easily spent more time disassembling and reassembling Gran’s stove than she’d ever spent using it to cook on. And as soon as she could slip out and tinker with her bike or go exploring, she would.

She finished filling her basket with apples and slid down the tree trunk to the wet grass, walking slowly back to the house. She was absolutely in love with this place, and she wished she didn't ever have to leave it. Castle Craig was fine and all, but this seemed more like a home.

Maddie left the apples in the kitchen and went up to peek in at Jamie. He was still sound asleep, so she came back down and started poking about the kitchen some more. She realised she was absolutely starving. They hadn't eaten much yesterday. She had made a pie once, and she thought she could remember how it was done.

She found a pie pan and a knife and started peeling and slicing the apples until she had enough, then rummaged around looking for some sugar and cinnamon and flour. Esmé had sent along some butter, so she used that to make up a crust and soon had a pie in the oven baking. It was quite pretty, she thought, at first pleased with herself, then fretting that it wouldn't be edible.

There were all sorts of drawers and cupboards to poke into, and she found a table cloth for the dining room table, which made her decide to set the table and eat there like proper people, to keep them from getting distracted again. In spite of all the apple slices she'd eaten whilst making the pie, she was still too hungry to miss another breakfast.

She dusted off the chairs and opened the drapes and discovered that the dining room, with its blue and white figured wallpaper and rich wood trimmings, was actually quite cheery in daylight. There were lovely big windows on the north and west walls, and they commanded a wonderful view of the moors through the spaces between the oaks circling the house.

Maddie looked for a while, one knee resting on the windowseat, delighted with the view and the warm spicy smell of pie beginning to drift her way. At last she turned from the window, finished setting the table, and set the pie on the table to cool while she went upstairs again.

She went to the mirror to comb her hair. She'd forgotten all about doing it yesterday and she looked rather like a savage, she thought, attacking the tangles with energy. When she looked as presentable as she could make herself, she went and jumped on the bed and said, “Wake up, Mr Beaufort-Stuart, I'm starving and I'm going to go eat breakfast with or without you.”

“Mm,” he said from somewhere, and she pulled the blankets off the bed.

“Hey,” he objected, but she gave him a look that said _you steal my clothes, I steal your blankets_ , and he relented and held out his arms to her. “Hi, beautiful,” he said, when she came over to him.

A few minutes later, her hair slightly more askew than it had been before she came to him, she reminded him that she was starving and got up and darted out the door before he had time to stop her, so he had no choice but to get up and follow her out.

She was waiting almost primly for him at the dining room table when he appeared and she gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Please to preside over your breakfast table, Mr Beaufort-Stuart.” But she was all eyes for the apple pie and did even not wait for him to sit down before her primness gave way and she was scooping some into her dish and tucking into it.

He laughed at her. “You've been busy,” he said.

“Jamie, what _is_ this place?” she asked him, feeling a bit more conversational two more scoops of pie later. “You seem to be awfully at home here.”

“I am. It's Uncle Alfred's estate. Mother's brother. He's almost never here—he's a wee bit eccentric, but he has caretakers come in to keep the place in order. We used to come here as kids in the summertime with Mother, to get our yearly dose of good sea air.”

Maddie wondered aloud what Jamie would define as “a wee bit eccentric”.

“Oh, he liked to wander off unpredictably and do inexplicable things like propose marriage to girls from road shows or collect string found on the ground. He would bring each piece home, wash it, and add it to the ball of Stray String Found on the Ground. He’s got it in the library—I’ll have to show you. I've only actually seen Uncle Alfred himself a handful of times, mostly because Mother is so annoyed at him all the time and also because everyone knows his housekeeper is more than a housekeeper and Mother particularly disapproves of the arrangement. He showed up occasionally at various relatives' houses for Easter or Christmas without any warning and then stayed interminably until he would decide to disappear as quickly as he came. One Christmas when I was seven he came to see us with gifts for all of us kids that had the wrong names on all the packages. Not just giving them to the wrong child, mind, but literally _the wrong names._ ” He laughed. “We just each took one and opened it and hoped for the best, and had loads of laughs in the process. Even Mother was amused in spite of herself. I ended up with a silk party dress. He intended it for Julie—the name on it was Jill—but it was several sizes too big for her at the time, and the one she opened was a pocketknife for ‘Jem’, which she absolutely refused to give up, even though we knew it was likely supposed to be mine. So much mayhem. She did like the dress. She wore it all the time once she finally got big enough to fit in it.”

“Did she ever give the knife back to you?” Maddie asked.

“Sort of,” he said. “But I let her have it after a while, because I knew how much she liked playing with it. Juliet, Lady Macbeth, anybody she fancied might happen to be carrying sharp implements around. I suppose it would be mine again now.” He was quiet a minute, then continued. “Anyway, when I phoned to ask Uncle Alfred for this place about a month ago, I got his housekeeper. Apparently he's dying now, somewhere. I'm not sure what's going to happen to the place when he's gone, which makes being here right now a little bittersweet.” He watched the birds in the bush by the window for a moment, thoughtfully, his chin resting on his hands. “Do you like it here? I hoped you would.”

“It's the most beautiful place I've ever been,” she said, and meant it.

He watched as she continued eating pie, finally remarking, “I think you've eaten more of that than I did.”

“I told you I was starving,” she said. “I didn't think much about eating yesterday.”

He laughed. “What do you say we walk down to the sea this morning?”

“I'm game, if we take lunch along.”

“And coats,” he said, winking. “Wee bit cold for you to romp about in a two-piece.”

“You couldn’t pay me all the money in the _world_ to get me in a two-piece bathing suit, Jamie Beaufort-Stuart,” she retorted, trying to keep a straight face. “ _Just so you know._ ”

“Challenge accepted,” he said, but she gave him a Look, and he instantly became the Picture of Innocence.

 

A little later, Jamie took Maddie's hand and they walked side by side out the door and across the garden. A short distance away was the stone wall that surrounded the place, with a small gate they could pass through to continue on the walking path to the sea. It was a well-worn but very narrow trail, and Maddie had to follow Jamie most of the way down. The air was cold and brisk and the clouds lowering, but it wasn't raining yet.

Maddie squealed in delight when she saw the beach, forgetting all about the possibility of rain. All around the beach were sand dunes, wind-chiselled into intricate towers and curves, like a weird landscape from another planet.

“They're always changing,” Jamie said. “We always pretended they were ruins or battlements or what-have-you. We'd go plunder the shipwrecks of shells and things—”

“ _Shipwrecks_?” Maddie said incredulously.

She stood gaping. The place was absolutely magical, and the lighthouse that stood at attention not far off shore shimmered in reflection on the shallow water beneath it.

“It's not always surrounded by water,” Jamie said. “The lighthouse, I mean. When the tide is out you can walk to it on the causeway. The beach is full of rocks and tripping hazards then, but there really are wrecked ships out there that we liked to play on. One time when I was nine Julie and I almost got washed away in the tide because our older brothers didn't like having to wait for us to stumble back over the rough ground from the shipwreck. They all got a birching for not taking better care of us. From Mother, no less. Usually she didn't resort to that.” His eyes clouded over and Maddie squeezed his hand. “I haven't actually thought about that day for a long time, ’til just now. I remember going as fast as I could, but I had Julie dragging behind me crying and screaming in fury and terror. I think it was her ruckus that made Mother aware what was happening and ordered the other boys back to help us. She often took the opportunity whilst we were happily occupied in the sand to nap on a blanket, because we _were_ rather exhausting on holiday.” He paused again, not quite smiling, then added, “I'm not afraid of the sea, but I have a healthy respect for its power. By the time our brothers came back the water was up to Julie's knees and there is no way we would have made it the rest of the way back, without them coming for us. I might have on my own, but she couldn't have, and I was _not_ going to leave her.” He looked down at the sand at his feet and squeezed Maddie's hand back.

“No wonder you were her favourite brother,” Maddie said softly, after a long silence.

He gave a slightly forced laugh. “I did have quite a time of it keeping peace between her and the others. They weren’t very nice to her a lot of the time when we were younger. Not outright mean, you understand, just _thoughtless_ , and of course she could and did fight like a cat and it just annoyed them. It seemed it got better after that incident, though.”

“Did you ever go back out there?” she asked.

“Oh yes. Many times. But Mother didn’t nap on the beach ever again, and the other boys were afraid to make her angry again, so they were more careful to pay attention. Making Mother truly furious is amazingly hard to do, but you most definitely do not want to be the one in trouble when she is.” He saw Maddie's eyes filling up, flicked a few tears off his own face and said, “Maddie, for the love of Pete, don't start blubbing or we're both going to fall apart.”

But Maddie, being Maddie, couldn't keep back the tears once they started. She sat down on the sand, dropped her umbrella by her feet, hid her face in her arms, and just wept. Jamie sat beside her, his own tears quieter, but unapologetically heartfelt. Neither of them noticed the rain when it first started, but soon Jamie was holding the umbrella with one hand over them both while the other stroked her hair and the heavens streamed tears along with them, encircling them in a shimmering liquid cage around the edge of the umbrella.

After a while Maddie quieted and rested her head on her knees, idly making little squiggles and circles in the sand with her finger. Jamie leaned to look into her glamourously pink eyes and she looked at his and suddenly the humour of the moment struck them both.

“We're pathetic,” Maddie said, wiping her face with her damp sleeve, feeling a bit silly now.

“But we feel better,” he said. “At least I do. Good for us. Kiss me, Maddie.”

She did kiss him, and she thought how very comfortable it was, being close to someone who would cry with you.

They stayed on the beach for a long time, mostly because Jamie hardly seemed to notice the weather and didn't make any indication that there was any reason to rush back. He was used to it, Maddie supposed. She didn't mind. She had a good warm coat and good boots and a brolly, and they found a nice sheltered place amongst some of the sand formations where the wind and rain were less troublesome, and they made a sandcastle—though it was more rocks and shells than sand, because they were too far from the water for the sand to hold together—and furnished it with tiny twigs and more shells and stones, and planted an orchard of grass sprigs. It was very intricate, and Maddie wished aloud they were tiny enough to go into it and have their lunch.

He kissed her over their little castle. “Was that a hint?”   

She laughed. “Of course!”

He handed her the umbrella while he took their lunch out of the bag and they sat contentedly eating sandwiches and hardboiled eggs.

When they had finished, he leant back against a small hill of tall grass. Maddie leant back against him. They looked up at the grey sky and the clouds scudding overhead, and neither of them spoke. The rain had stopped for the moment, but the wind was beginning to pick up, and finally, almost reluctantly, Jamie said, “I guess we'd better go back. Pretty sure this is about to turn into something we don't want to be caught out in.”

“All right,” Maddie murmured. She wanted to stay like this forever, but she sat up and they gathered their things, took one last look at their tiny castle, and hand in hand set off up the hill “toward home,” as Maddie caught herself thinking, then mentally corrected herself. “Not home. Just—the house.”

“Better get those damp things off,” Jamie advised when they got upstairs. “There’re plenty of towels in the linen closet in there.” He nodded toward the bathroom and started shedding his own damp things and draping them over chair backs near the radiator.

She ran herself the hottest bath she could get while she peeled off all her sodden layers of clothes. She hadn’t realised that she’d gotten so soaked until now.

Jamie knocked on the door, which she had locked out of custom, and she cracked it open and held her wet things out to him so he could hang them up with his.

“Silly girl,” he said, tossing them toward the chair, and she peeked at him rather wide-eyed around the edge of the door. She couldn’t close it again, because the toe of his boot was in the way, and she blushed.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie! Habit!”

“Let me in, then?”

“Um.” She blushed again. The light was very bright in there and she felt more exposed than she had before. “I haven’t a stitch on.”

“So I gathered,” he answered drily. “I am not much bothered by _that._ ”

She switched tactics. “My bath will get cold.”

He crossed his arms and leant his head against the door, his boot still firmly in place. “Well, let’s see,” he said slowly, staring upwards, “either you'll give up guarding the door and get in the bath, abandoning the door which you cannot lock, or else you'll make a run for it to one of the other bathrooms—which have no towels, mind you—or—”

“Or what?” she asked.

“Or you could invite me in,” he finished, not moving a thing but his eyes to meet hers. He winked.

She smiled in spite of herself. “All right, then,” she said, winking back, and she opened the door so fast he almost fell in.

It was his turn to gape at her now as she closed the door, using him to do it, pressing herself against him, holding him captive with her kisses.

“I thought the bath was going to get cold,” he finally managed to say, softly.

“More water where that came from,” she whispered against his face. He stroked her neck and shoulder with the backs of his fingers. “Besides,” she said, “if I distract you this way, you won’t be looking at me.”

“My dafty Maddie-lass, I _like_ looking at you.”

“I know. But I am shy.”

Jamie considered for a moment and then glanced at her. “There is room for two in that bath,” he said softly, his tone almost daring her. “A shame to not use that lovely hot water, don’t you think?”

“You are _relentless_ ,” she said, with a tiny smile and a warm look in her eyes.

 

Friday morning the sky mostly cleared, and Jamie hurried Maddie out of the house before sunrise, saying he wanted to take her to the wrecked ship whilst the tide was out. “And,” he said, “maybe we'll get to see a good sunrise.”

In the dusky, dim light before the sun came up, she scrambled after him down the path. Past the lightkeeper's house, the lights of which still looked bright and gold through the darkness, and over the dunes, where he stopped and gripped her hand. 

The timing could not have been more perfect. The sky began to turn pink, and they stood, silently watching. The pink and gold and lilac shimmered on the mirror of wet sand below and bled liberally over the moody morning clouds above, blazing into blue as the sun crept up the sky. Maddie had never seen anything quite so dramatic, and Jamie looked especially pleased.

“I was a bit worried there would be too many clouds and we wouldn't see anything,” he said, his face bright. “Most of the time, there's not much of a show. Come on, I want to show you the ship before the tide starts to come in! We have a couple of hours.” And they ran together down the open beach.    
  


They had a late breakfast Saturday morning and Maddie was rather morose about having to leave, and trying to not be annoyed that Jamie seemed so cheerful. He was making the rounds upstairs, checking that all the windows were closed and locked and turning off all the lights and radiators, and he heard her leave the house and come back about forty seconds later. Her voice floated up the stairs.   

“Jamie! Where have you hidden the car?”

“I didn’t hide it,” he called back.

“Did somebody steal it?”

There was a pause. “Not _technically_.”

“Well, it's gone.” Her voice was closer now, and then she looked around the doorway. He was beaming at her. “Jamie, what _is_ the matter with you?”

“Nothing!” he said. “Trust me, Maddie, it's all right!”

She continued to look skeptical. “Well, if we have to walk home,” she said a tiny bit balefully, “we _might_ want to get started.”

“I'm ready,” he said, and he put his arm around her as they went downstairs, locked the door behind them, and walked across the sunlit garden in the direction of the old barn.

“The road’s that way,” Maddie said, pointing the other direction.

“But our chariot isn’t,” he said.

When they got to the barn, he put down his bag and said, “Now turn around, close your eyes, and don’t open them until I say to!”

She still looked a little skeptical, but she did as he ordered, shutting her eyes tightly, standing quite still. She listened to the grating of the latch lifting, the creaking of one of the heavy old double doors. Then she felt his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t open them yet!” he said, turning her around and pushing her forward. She felt the cool darkness of the interior swallow her when she had gone through the door.

“What in the world are you doing with me?” she asked, and he told her to look, and her mouth dropped open when she did.

She stood there speechless for a minute and held her hands over her mouth, bouncing up and down a little bit and making strange noises.

_There was a Puss Moth in the building._

He hugged her from behind. “See, we’re not stranded after all! Still worried about the car?”

She shook her head. “Not so much! Jamie, what _have_ you been up to?” She went over and hugged the Puss Moth as best she could and then saw the number on it and gaped again.

“Dympna’s?” she asked, looking at him.

He nodded. “I sprung it on her a few days ago. It took some talking, but I wore her down. She left it here yesterday morning while we were shipwrecking and took the car back home for us. We can take the long way home now. Lucky for me you didn’t notice the car was gone yesterday.”

He opened the other half of the building doors and together they worked on rolling the plane out to the field in front of the barn doors. Maddie was sobbing with joy.

“Remember when you said it wasn’t like me to blub?” she managed to say.

“I do,” he said, laughing. “I know better now.” He handed her up and passed her their bags.

She questioned him with her eyes, and he gave her a gentle push to the pilot seat. “Fly the plane, Maddie,” he said. She wiped her wet face with the back of her hand and sniffed as she sat down and prepared to fly.

She kept snivelling, but only because she was so happy to be in a plane again. It had really only been a short time since she had last flown, but it seemed like forever after the constant activity of the war, and until this moment she hadn’t realised just how much she had missed it. And now she didn't have to go anywhere in particular in any particular time, she just had to fly the plane and enjoy the ride.

After a few minutes of idling, while she got a hold of herself, Maddie felt a hand on her shoulder. She kissed it, just like she had kissed Julie’s before Julie jumped from the Lysander in France. She pressed his hand to her cheek, and she sniffed again. But she was smiling. She was flying a plane again.

“Maddie,” Jamie said, quite earnestly, after they had been in the air several minutes, “I want you to have happy dreams, not bad ones.” He leant forward to lay his other hand on the control column beside hers. She looked at their hands, and then met his eyes—his eyes as clear and matchless as the perfect sky they were sailing. “‘Nothing to be afraid of, nothing to battle against, just the two of us flying together, flying the plane together, side by side in the gold sky,’” he quoted softly into her ear. “Easy peasy, Maddie-love.”

And it was.

She would never have to fly alone again.


	4. Thing Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a foxtrot video](https://youtu.be/tyOWM6S1ITA?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)

**29 September 1945**

**Craig Castle, Castle Craig**

There was a field near the castle perfect for landing the Puss Moth, and they could see the family waiting nearby, waving energetically. Maddie made a perfect landing of it, and she felt very pleased with herself. She and Jamie smiled at each other brightly for a brief moment.

They had hardly gotten the door open when Ross and Jock came running up. They swarmed Jamie as soon as he was on the ground, and Maddie tossed down their bags and jumped down too. Esmé and Dympna were more sedate than the boys, but no less happy to see Maddie. She hugged Dympna first, because Dympna was taking the plane back home right away, and she and Esmé stood side by side and watched her fly away until she had vanished into the distance.

“I’m so glad you are home at last,” Esmé said, slipping her arm around Maddie’s waist. She looked, as always, the picture of elegance and dignity, and Maddie felt, as always, a bit ashamed of her own perpetual untidiness. But Esmé’s warm welcome eased her, and she let herself be guided inside, where Esmé procured tea and biscuits seemingly from nowhere and settled into a sunny bow window seat with Maddie to have a little tête-à-tête, with the tea-tray between them.

“I’ve had your room aired and cleaned while you’ve been away,” she told Maddie. “I also did a little rearranging to make it less of a bachelor’s cave—I don’t know if you noticed, since you only spent one night in it, but it really _was_ rather dreadful. There’s a chair for you up there now, and a wardrobe for your things, and anything else you can think of that you might want, we’ll make it happen. Just tell me. You can take anything you like from Julie’s room, too. We consider it all yours.”

“Thank you,” Maddie said. “I’m sure it will be just lovely. I don’t think I could touch Julie’s room yet, though. I like feeling like she’ll be back any moment, you know?”

Esmé nodded, and her voice was quiet. “I do. I only finally closed the window in there a few months ago. I just couldn’t quite give up hoping that maybe, just _maybe_ , she’d come flying home.” There was a mutual moment of silence between them, and Maddie did not want to be the one to end it.

She didn’t have to. Esmé collected herself and asked, “Have you any more things being sent from your grandparents’ home?”

“There was a trunk that I didn’t finish packing, but it will keep. I really don’t have very much, and I brought all my clothes and necessary things along.”

“All of them?” Esmé looked surprised, casting a glance at the not-very-substantial suitcase near them.

Maddie blushed a little. “I’ve worn almost nothing but my uniforms for years, and all my regular clothes are quite pathetic. I left the grubbiest ones behind. This suit is the nicest thing I have, and it’s not new.”

“Well, we’ll have that taken care of in no time,” Esmé said briskly. “My dressmaker is coming out in a couple of weeks. She’ll take care of us both at once. Have you any society experience, Maddie?”

“I’m afraid not,” Maddie said, hoping her voice did not sound as weak as her spirits.

“Really?” Esmé looked genuinely surprised.

“No, I was at war from the time I was nineteen and I never got asked to school dances or anything before that. Julie dragged me to all the hops at Maidsend, but I’m afraid I’m a confirmed wallflower. Even at those I spent most of the time talking to my friend Kim about maps and things, because he wouldn’t dance, and I didn’t like to.” Then, feeling wary, she asked, “Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to know how much schooling you might need for the party.”

“Party?” Maddie asked, somewhat squeakily.

She heard Jamie laugh from the door. “Are you interviewing my wife already, Mother?” He strode over and stood behind Maddie, resting his hands on her shoulders.

“ _What party_?” Maddie asked again, suspicion and dread all over her face.

“The one she’s been planning for over a month,” he said, sitting on the floor beside her and taking a biscuit.

“A kind of belated wedding celebration since most of the family and friends weren’t able to be here when you got married,” Esmé expanded.

“I knew you would hate the idea, so I didn’t say anything before,” Jamie finished. At Maddie’s look of blank horror, he tried to reassure her. “Don’t _worry_ , darling! It will be all right. I promise. And we will do all we can to make it as easy as possible for you.”

“When is this party?” Maddie asked dubiously, looking as though she was about to hear her execution date.

“Last weekend in November,” Esmé replied. “Enough time for a crash course in etiquette and a dress-fitting or two, I think.”

“Worse and worse,” she said. “I suppose I can stand being dolled up for a day,” she said, “but I just _know_ I’ll do something gormless and disgrace all of you.”

“Sh, Maddie. I will stand by you the whole time. It’s going to be all right, and you could _never_ disgrace us.” He kissed her hand. “Julie taught you to foxtrot. What other dances do you know?”

Her look of almost-crying blanched to raw fear.

“Dance?” she squeaked. “I don’t _dance_! I don’t know if I even remember how to foxtrot. That was a _long_ time ago.”

“Well, I suppose it is true that we had to fake-waltz at our wedding,” he mused, looking momentarily perplexed at the memory of leading Maddie through steps she had only ever watched other people do.

“Don’t remind me. It was dead embarrassing.”   

Suddenly his face brightened a little. “We need some music, Mother,” he said. “We’ll have a refresher course in foxtrotting.”

Esmé was happy to oblige. Maddie and Jamie followed her to the drawing room, where she spent a few minutes shuffling through the stack of music on the piano, and then sat down to play.

Jamie swept Maddie into his arms, and she tried hard to remember for his sake. He was so determined. But she stumbled awkwardly until he realised she really _didn’t_ remember, and he began prompting her.

“I do not care how well or horribly you dance, myself,” he said, “but I’m damn well not going to have _you_ miserably certain everyone is judging you—right foot,” he corrected, as she almost stepped on his shoe, “even though they’ll all be too busy with their own dancing to pay mind to yours.”

“Except for the wallflowers and gossipy old ladies,” Maddie protested, frowning in concentration.   

Jamie brushed her cheek with his lips. “Closer,” he whispered, pulling her tightly to him. The piano masked his voice to all ears but hers, and she grew warm and fluttery, and his closeness went to her head like champagne. “If we are like this, your dancing skills will _not_ be what the wallflowers and gossipy old ladies will be whispering about.” He was too good at this, flirting with her without missing a step.

“ _Not here_ ,” she hissed in his ear, as his hand wandered down her back to where her blouse was coming untucked.

“You are doing splendidly,” he murmured. “You do remember. You have the steps down, now just pretend you’re a drifting cloud instead of a baby rabbit.” He had his hand under her blouse now, and there was that familiar lunatic glint in his eyes as he walked his fingers up her back.

“Don’t—you—dare—” she began.

He did dare, and she squealed and stepped on his foot. For the first time he lost the rhythm, and they staggered.    

A couch conveniently broke her fall, and he dropped dramatically to one knee and kissed her. She managed some muffled noises of protest whilst scrambling to refasten her underpinnings, her cheeks flaming. Neither of them noticed the music had stopped until Esmé’s voice, amusement thinly veiled with dry nonchalance, met their ears.

“James, that is _not_ foxtrotting.”

Jamie shot to his feet with an expression of abject penitence, as if he was a small boy again, caught with a mouthful of hothouse grapes, and looked somewhere past his mother’s steady gaze. “I’ll behave, Mother.”

Maddie stuffed most of her face in the nearest sofa pillow and her shoulders shook with silent laughter. It was unbelievably hilarious to watch Jamie get scolded, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than for Esmé to leave them.

Esmé read the sparkle in Maddie’s eyes, gave her a conspiratorial wink, and went to the door. “I’ll just leave you two to your… conference,” she said, making sure that Maddie saw her lock the door behind her as she left.  

As soon as Esmé was gone, Maddie howled with laughter.

“I am glad you find it so hilarious,” Jamie said, still carefully gazing at nothing, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“Your _face_ just then,” she said. “Funniest thing I have ever seen.” She stretched out a hand toward him. “Having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Maybe you can fix it?”

He knelt again and she guided his hands back under her blouse. Their lips met, and Maddie felt that hum of need inside her, awakened only a week ago, but intense and pleasant and very demanding.

“What if someone walks in?” he asked when she stopped kissing him long enough to catch her breath.

“They won’t. Your mother’s locked the door for us.”    

“Freaking enabler,” he said, in a tone that clearly welcomed enabling, and pulled her to the floor with him.

After another long kiss he glanced up at the wall and said, “I _still_ feel like I’m being watched. Great-Great-Grandfather David looks particularly disapproving.”

“Julie doesn’t,” Maddie whispered back.

“No, but there’s old great-aunt Millicent, too, looking at us as if we are a blight to her existence—”

“Who cares, anyway? They’re just paintings.” She closed his eyes with a light sweep of her hand and turned his face back to hers for another kiss.

A little later, breathless and staring at the gilded carved ceiling, they lay side by side on the thick carpet, hands clasped.

“Ever since you walked away from me the morning after our wedding,” Jamie said, “I have been going batty, lying alone night after night, dreaming of you and what I’d be doing with you if you were there tucked up snugly with me in my spartan little excuse of a bed—more than once I was tempted to nick a Lizzie and fly home and find you, even if only for a few hours, and hang the consequences. Long enough to make love to you, at least. And now I do have you here with me and I find I _still_ can’t get enough of you.”

“A week isn’t much, to compensate for a year,” she said softly, turning her face to his. “I _am_ sorry it took so long the first time. It must have been torture for you.”

“No,” he said, kissing her firmly. “I told you _not_ to be sorry for that. I am not completely lacking in self-control. Do you really think I’d get any pleasure from hurting you?” She saw a shadow pass into his eyes then, and he looked away for a moment. “I haven’t asked you this yet—” He paused, hesitant, glancing at her quickly. “After what you said, about being scared you wouldn’t like sex— _do_ you like it, Maddie?”

She laid a hand on his face. “Must you ask?”

“Yes,” he said. “Because if I am going to be resigned to a future of celibacy, I think you’d better tell me now.”

The earnest seriousness of his tone made her burst out laughing at him with merry brightness. “Don’t be gormless, Jamie!” She kissed him lightly. “All right, so I doubt I’d ever have gone looking for it on my own, but I also never even _imagined_ what it would be like—I suppose I should have guessed, because your kisses always have made me feel like melting clean away, but I just didn’t know, and I _was_ scared. But I’m not now. Still a bit shy about it, but not _scared_. It’s you, and I like you. A lot.”  

 

At first, Maddie mostly stayed upstairs in Jamie’s room when she was in the house. It was very spacious and comfortable, and much less intimidating for her than poking about the other rooms. His bedroom was her place now, the one place she had a right to be more than anywhere else, and she made it her own, with little touches here and there indicating that two people called this room theirs now. The teacups and saucers in an orderly line on the mantel, to keep from having to take them up and down constantly; their wedding photograph; Maddie’s hat with its single feather hanging on its hook near the wardrobe.

Sometimes she went to Julie’s room, next to Jamie’s, and just sat there, or lay on the bed, and thought about her friend. She took great pleasure in keeping it aired and dusted. Everything in here still smelled of Julie, even these years later, especially when Maddie opened the wardrobe and buried her face in the beautiful clothes that still hung there, or opened her vanity drawers to look at the hairpins and lipsticks and nail varnish that Julie would never need again. Someday, perhaps, she would be ready to let some of these things go, but for now, keeping the room just as Julie had last left it was all she wanted. At first she cried every time she was in there for more than two minutes, and once Jamie found her in a heap on the floor, in the near-dark, clutching one of Julie’s scarves and sobbing. He didn’t reprove her. His preferred method of dealing with Julie’s absence had always been to simply stay out of that room altogether, but that evening, for the first time since he’d come in to pilfer blankets on their wedding night, he sat there with Maddie and grieved quietly beside her, one hand on her head stroking her hair, the other scrubbing tears out of his own eyes.   

Some evenings after dinner they sat with Jamie’s parents, but far more often Maddie and Jamie retired to his room. Nobody questioned it; they _were_ newlyweds, after a fashion, and it didn’t surprise or perplex anyone, least of all Esmé, that they should crave solitude in close proximity to a bed.

Tonight Jamie had his feet on Maddie’s lap so she could rub them before going to bed—a little ritual she had started, hoping it might aid circulation and help them not be so cold all the time. He insisted that it helped, but whether it really did or not, she still liked doing it for him. Sometimes he read to her while she did it. Tonight he was fussing over his nails, and Maddie laughed inside at the seriousness with which he was engaged in the task. She’d seen that same look of critical inspection on Julie’s face so often. He really _was_ astonishingly like his sister.

“Are you regular, Maddie?”

The question took her by surprise. Asked as casually as “Do you think it will rain tonight?” or “How about some tea?” all the while wholly absorbed with filing his nails. He looked up when she didn’t answer right away, the question still in his eyes.

Her hands stilled. “Why?” she asked evasively, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Well, it’s been—” he counted in his head. “Forty-one days since we came together and you haven’t had your period yet. I just wondered if that was ordinary. For you.”

“I—” she stopped. “No, it’s not.” She stammered hopelessly. “I wasn’t—well, I wasn’t sure if you would be happy about it, I mean, so soon.” Then, almost in a whisper, “I wasn’t sure what _I_ thought about it.”

She would not think of her mother. She would not tell him.

She pulled herself together and stuffed her fears deep, hoping they did not show in her face.

He leant forward and looked into her eyes closely. “What are you afraid of, Maddie?”

She didn’t answer. Her hands were still trembling.

“You really don’t mind, then?” she asked finally. She was not willing to answer his question.

“I don’t mind a bit. I _was_ getting a wee bit tired of waiting for you to say something, though, if there was something to be said.”

She ducked her head, her hapless mane of curls obscuring the face he knew was blushing under them. He delighted in her shy, painfully modest self, but he decided to put an end to her torment quickly this time. He lifted her hair from her face, and said, “I am very happy, Maddie-love. Truly.”

She squeaked, and he kissed her, and didn’t let go for some time. When he did, she was calmer and her eyes were soft.

“Come to bed?” he asked, holding out a hand to her.

 

For several weeks, Maddie kept herself very busy. She had never been able to really explore the castle and its grounds on any of her previous visits, and now she had both unlimited time and Esmé’s enthusiastic permission to go wherever and do whatever she liked, so she did. There was plenty to be poked into in just the corridor of rooms by her own—four stories up, Esmé’s  was at one end, Jamie’s and Julie’s on the other, and several more in between.

Jamie was always very busy helping his father keep the estate running. They were still short on staff, and always inundated with plenty of tasks to be done. When she could be useful, Maddie would help them. She was a little intimidated by Jamie’s father, however, which amused Jamie quite a bit, though he couldn’t say he entirely blamed her for it. David was slightly obsessed with his beloved and gigantic dogs, which terrified Maddie. He had been an army captain in the Great War and was very particular about Order and Propriety and Punctuality, but he was kind enough in spite of all that. He made sure to keep the dogs away from Maddie once he learnt of her terror, and Jamie swore his father did have a sense of humour lurking beneath the stiff formality.

Most mornings, though, would find Maddie pestering the driver to distraction tinkering with the family cars, and other times she went to the kitchen, where she set about teaching herself to cook with a sort of grim determination. She far preferred the garage to the kitchen, but she didn’t dare to push the somewhat taciturn driver over the edge. Besides, she knew that if, as she and Jamie hoped, they could someday find a situation for themselves outside the castle, she was going to need to know how to make more than apple pie. The cook was not entirely pleased at Maddie’s invasion of her domain, but Esmé insisted that not a word be said to her.

It wasn’t as engrossing as fitting together bits of engine, cooking, but she soon discovered there was science to it nonetheless. Jamie sometimes sat with her while she was down there, laughing at her refusal to use utensils if she could possibly stick her hands in whatever she was making. When Ross and Jock heard of her experiments, they began to hover about too. All three gladly provided taste-testing services. Eventually she got brave enough to let other people in the house try her creations, and she loved whatever praise she could get. “But I’d still sooner build engines,” she always said, and she spent a good deal of time taking apart the kitchen appliances, too, just because they were there.

In the afternoons, Maddie often spent a few hours with the five convalescent soldiers currently in residence. They had their own area of the castle set aside for them, on the ground floor, since many of them couldn’t climb stairs. They were nice lads and they all adored Maddie. She wasn’t needed constantly, since there was a nurse on duty all the time, but the boys enjoyed the variety in company. Maddie loved a chance to talk with people about things she understood, and they loved a girl who actually understood and took interest in Engines and Maps and Other Technical Things. They also ate all her experiments with relish, even the failed ones.

And other times she went exploring the countryside either on foot or on a bicycle nicked from the garage. Sometimes Jamie went with her, but she didn’t mind going alone, either.

Then came the morning when Maddie had to run the Gauntlet of New Clothes. Esmé’s dressmaker spent several hours with Maddie and Esmé in the lady’s bedroom, perusing pictures of styles one bright October morning, and Maddie hated every minute of it. Her eyes kept straying to the window and the beautiful day outside, beckoning her to come out into it. It _would_ have to be such a day, she thought. She felt displaced beyond description, trapped indoors talking about something as dull as _clothes_ —but like it or not, this was her life now, she reminded herself. So she tried to be patient and thoughtful rather than just hastily pointing out something tolerable and saying “five of those, please.” She suspected Esmé wouldn’t let her off that easily, anyway.

She let herself be talked into everything from an updated version of her current suit, to a new winter coat, to some sturdy things that could stand up to shenanigans, to a dark red silk dressing gown with a matching lace nightgown.

“It seems positively indecent,” Maddie objected, blushing at the mere idea and longing for the comforting flannel nighties of her girlhood. “I just want a _regular_ nightgown.”

“You can have that too,” the dressmaker said easily, unaware or unphased by Maddie’s discomfort. “What about your evening dress?”

“Oh,” said Maddie, hesitant. “I—I really don’t know. I’ve never had a fancy dress in my life.” She turned to Esmé, who had been sitting quietly on the sidelines during all this. “What would you recommend?”

Esmé surveyed her. There was no judgement in her assessment, although Maddie was very conscious of her out-of-control curls and the fact that the palms of her hands were still marked with grease from that morning’s automobile tinkering, and the toes of her shoes were hopelessly scuffed.

“Green, I think,” Esmé said finally. “A nice rich green will complement Jamie’s dress plaid and bring out your colouring nicely. And for style, something sleek and well-draped; I don’t think puffed sleeves and fluff would be very becoming on you.”

Maddie exhaled, a little too loudly perhaps, and smiled. At least Esmé had sense. If she had to have a fancy dress, she jolly well didn’t want one that made her look like a fluffy flower garden.

“Emerald green charmeuse with black lace,” Esmé said, and came over to sit beside Maddie and peruse some pictures. “This one.”

The dressmaker nodded. “Perfect,” she said. “All right, now let’s get those measurements, Mrs Beaufort-Stuart.”

As soon as they were taken, Maddie asked somewhat desperately, “Can I go now?”

Esmé nodded, barely stifling a laugh, and Maddie was out the door with slightly indecorous haste.

 

Maddie was just beginning to think that the difficulties she’d often heard were involved in growing a baby were overrated when, about a week before the party, her body decided to stage an abrupt and violent revolt against the smell of coffee. Jamie had to stop drinking his beloved morning cup in their room, because he couldn’t come within ten feet of her if he had. At lunch, she could barely keep awake. In the evenings, she was overwhelmed by nausea, pled indisposition, and stayed upstairs, alone or with Jamie.

“What am I going to do?” she asked him desperately after a few days of this. She knew that if things didn’t change quickly, she was liable to spend the entire evening of the party as green as her gown, and she knew how much this party meant to Esmé. She didn’t want to worry her and cause trouble.

Esmé wasn’t fooled, however. She surprised Maddie one evening, coming in after a brief knock, and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She brushed Maddie’s hair gently back and asked, “How far along are you, Maddie?”

At Maddie’s surprised face, Esmé laughed. “I’ve had six, my dear. I’ve been watching you. I knew something was up for sure when Jamie started coming downstairs for his coffee for reasons he declined to explain, but I held my tongue just in case. How far along are you?” she asked again.

“Two months?” Maddie guessed, looking a bit shy and self-conscious. Esmé did not laugh.

“It’s all right to be open with me, darling. We’re grownups. Grownup people have sex and babies. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, remember?” She shrugged and smiled. “Now, what do I need to do to get you through this party as comfortably as possible?”

“Can we have it in the morning?” Maddie asked pathetically. “I feel fine until about five o’clock. Unless I get a whiff of Jamie’s coffee.” She made a face, and this time Esmé did laugh.

“Bit late for that, but I can do the next best thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I can make sure there’s no coffee at the party, and I can make sure there are places Jamie can safely hide you if you feel poorly and need to collect yourself.”

“You’re so sweet,” Maddie said, smiling. “Thank you.” Then she added, “I just feel so ill. It would be a relief to throw up, but I never do.” She sighed. “I haven’t actually fainted, either, but I feel like I might sometimes.”

“There’s a little closet in the hall between the dining room and the ballroom,” Esmé said thoughtfully. “You should be able to get to it fairly easily no matter where you are, and I can arrange for it to be inconspicuous.” She squeezed Maddie’s hand and stood up. “You rest up now. We’ll take care of everything. Oh, and your dress will be here tomorrow!” she added brightly. “I’ll bring it up as soon as it comes. We can keep it in Julie's room, so Jamie doesn't see it.”

“Why can’t he see it?” Maddie wanted to know.

“You didn’t get to wear a proper wedding gown, so this will have to do. We’ll surprise him.”

 

 **24 November 1945**

The day of the party, Maddie stayed upstairs as long as she could, fortifying herself with sleep and plenty of plain toast. When it was time to get ready, Esmé took Maddie to Julie’s room to supervise her dressing process. Maddie pulled on her silk stockings—the first silk stockings she’d ever had—and looked in the mirror at her reflection. _Such oddly luxurious underthings_ , she thought. _Like a wren in peacock feathers._

But Esmé’s thoughts were not on the marvels of silk stockings and underwear. “I don’t know _what_ to do with your hair, child,” she sighed, surveying the ample black fluff critically.

“A full jar of brylcreem,” came Jamie’s voice from the door.

Esmé turned quickly around to see him peeking merrily around the doorframe. “Go get your own clothes on, you scamp,” she said, giving him a gentle shove in the right direction and closing the door. “You sit down, Maddie, we’ll see what we can manage.”

Maddie sat gladly at Julie’s vanity table. Esmé wet her hair thoroughly and, with a myriad of cleverly placed pins, managed with some difficulty to contain the curls, if not entirely tame them. She surveyed her handiwork and said at last, “I suppose that will do.” She smiled. “Now let’s get the dress on.”

Maddie stepped into it. She’d tried it on before, of course, but this would be the first time anyone besides Esmé would see it. It was so soft and floaty and unusual, like the underwear, and Maddie rather liked the feel of it, which surprised her. She’d expected she’d feel imprisoned.

Esmé buttoned up the long row of little jet buttons up the back of the dress and they stood in front of the mirror a moment. Maddie barely recognised herself, and Esmé’s face was pleased and proud. “You are very pretty, Maddie,” she said. “Not to make you vain, but you really are.” She hugged Maddie quickly. “All right, now let’s go show you off.”

They went back to Jamie’s room, Maddie’s skirt whispering secrets to the floor as it drifted along, and Esmé knocked.

He opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting there. He looked sharp and elegant himself, kilt and black jacket and shining silver buttons, and at the sight of Maddie, colouring prettily in her unaccustomed finery, he stepped back, gaping, lost for words. His eyes glowed softly.

“What a vision,” he whispered. “Is this really my Maddie I’m looking at?”

She averted her eyes, equal parts self-conscious and pleased at the effect she was having on him. He stepped toward her and kissed her neck. She swayed slightly, and he caught her with one arm. “Aye, it’s my Maddie, sure enough.”

He took a fine gold chain from somewhere and draped it around her neck. The pendant was a tiny emerald, tear-shaped, and his hands shook a little as he fastened it. “It was Julie’s,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders. That was all he needed to say.

She reached up and squeezed his hand.    

“Don’t forget your gloves,” Esmé said, holding them out to her.

“Oh,” she said, laughing a little, her eyes still locked on Jamie’s. She felt rather suspended in air, heady, unstable on her feet. But she finally took the gloves, pulled them on, took Jamie’s arm, and said, “To the lions?” She tried to smile gamely, but there was a tremor to it.

He pulled her close and kissed her soundly, dipping her just a tiny bit. “I adore you, Maddie. I may get dead drunk just looking at you.” His eyes strayed to her low neckline. “I may never get you downstairs at all.”

“I feel positively indecent,” she said softly. But she did not flinch at his steady adoring gaze and her arms twined around his neck. He kissed her shoulder with just a little nip that made her squeal.

“Downstairs, you two,” Esmé’s voice broke into their self-absorbed oblivion. She grinned and prodded the lovebirds out into the hall, closed the door behind them, and went towards the stairs.

“‘Drunken, but not with wine’, that’s me,” he quoted. “You are gorgeous, Mrs B.” Then, “Shall we go down?”     

“The sooner we go down, the sooner we can come back,” she said, laying his hand over her exposed bosom.

“And aren’t you becoming quite the bold lassie,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

“Keep your hand there all evening and I won’t feel so naked,” she whispered.

“Keep my hand there all evening and you _will_ be naked,” he countered saucily, in something more than a whisper.

“ _James_ ,” his mother called firmly, poking her head around the corner. “Do I need to drag you both down here by force, or are you coming on your own?”

“We’re coming,” he called back. He assumed a somewhat too-lofty stance of Dignified Propriety, and Maddie laughed at him as he walked with her down the stairs.

 

Downstairs was ablaze with lights and humming with people. There was not exactly a fanfare to greet their appearance on the stairs, but there was a general cheer and someone, Maddie couldn’t tell who, announced them.

To her it was a sea of strange faces and sparkling jewels and finery. Jamie knew everyone, of course, so Maddie smiled bright and gormlessly at each new person he introduced her to, deciding that the less she spoke, the better. Nobody else in the room was from Stockport or its environs. She was not going to have anyone laughing at her accent before they knew her.

She engaged as well as she could, but she had difficulty connecting to anything but Jamie’s solid strength beside her. She ate and drank as little as possible, for fear she would be sick in front of everyone. But she began to see sparkles, and she knew she would surely faint if she could not sit down.

“Take me out,” she hissed in his ear, and he swiftly took her to Esmé’s designated Maddie Recovery Closet, where she promptly lay down on the floor and covered her eyes with her hands, moaning, longing for everything around her to stop spinning.

“I guess not eating is almost as bad as eating,” she finally managed to say.

“I’m getting you something,” he decided. “Stay here.”

“I hardly think I can go anywhere,” she replied weakly, attempting a laugh.

He was back in a few minutes with a glass of lemon water and a bowl of cherries. She sat up, tentative, and when nothing terrible happened she ate them—a little timidly, as if fearing her body would retaliate, and Jamie sat watching her with a completely besotted expression. “There is not a single other woman here tonight who can hold a candle to my Maddie,” he said firmly. “Not a single one.”

She grinned somewhat crookedly, but she looked pleased. “You are very flattering, sir,” she said. "Considering I'm hardly a catch just now.”

“I don’t get to be locked into a closet with just _anyone_ ,” he said, winking.

“You're ridiculous,” she said fondly, and for a few minutes they took advantage of being locked into a closet together to have a kiss or two or ten.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

“I think I can go back out now,” she said. “How many more hours do we have?”

He glanced at his watch. “At least four,” he said. “Five would be better.”

Supper went smoothly. There was no need for a speedy escape. Afterwards there was more obligatory mingling, and some of the younger set were clearly, restlessly waiting for dancing to start. “Looks like the young folks are itching to start dancing,” he said to her, low.     

“Why don’t they, then?”

“We have to start it.”

“Wonderful,” she said grimly. “You said nobody would be watching us.”

“They won’t,” he replied cheerfully. “As soon as we're out there, everyone who wants to will be joining in.” He caught the orchestra leader’s eye and nodded, and he swept Maddie smoothly into the middle of the floor and smiled at her. He believed in her. It made her feel brave and she forgot about the watching eyes. She did not step on his toes, even when she faltered a couple of times, and he held her very closely indeed. At first she thought he was being romantic, half-hiding his face in her hair, but when the dance ended she looked in his eyes and saw tears standing in them. He led her off the floor and into the closet again, where he tried to pull himself together.

“I was remembering the last time we had a party here before the war and I danced with Julie,” he said. “We used to always start off the dancing, because Mother was very proud of showing us off—we were quite good at it, and—well.” He sighed a little and reached for her hand to squeeze it. “I’m all right, it just hit me out there a bit unexpectedly.”

She stepped close to him and held him. “It’s always that way,” she said. “You go along, and everything’s peachy, and suddenly a song or a smell or some other silly little thing catches you off guard.” Her own eyes filled suddenly. “I miss her so much.”

He nodded in agreement. “Me too.” And then he added, “I like dancing with you more than her, though.”

She looked at him, surprised, and he said, “I'm not sure how to explain it. She was a better dancer than you, but we were always doing it to show off, you know? But with you it's different. More real and meaningful, doing it as if to communicate love to you, not just trying to impress everyone else.”

“You're sweet,” she said, and she kissed him before they went back out again.

The rest of the party was rather boring for people who didn’t dance much and didn’t know anyone, and Maddie was both. She leant against the wall and tried hard not to look like she’d rather be anywhere else while she watched everyone. Jock, who had never been to a party like this either, looked to be thoroughly enjoying his following of twittering young girls and throwing himself gregariously into the role of Jock the Entertainer, while Ross, who was still not much interested in girls, _was_ very much taking advantage of not being told he had to stop eating at any particular time. Jamie’s older brothers, whom she had not met before today, ganged up on Maddie and demanded that she dance with them each at least once. She obliged them, because they _were_ all really very charming and irresistible, then she said firmly she refused to be talked into any more, so she and Jamie sat for a moment beside a man and his wife who had been doing social work with war orphans and had come home for the holidays.

Another man joined them and began telling stories of some of the horrible things he’d heard about the concentration camps and other Nazi atrocities, and the social worker’s wife chimed in occasionally with her own observations. Maddie looked to Jamie, her eyes pleading. She did not want to think about such horrors, especially not tonight, since Rose had declined to come.

The more the man talked, the more ashen Maddie’s face became, and the social worker’s wife expressed concern. “Are you quite all right, Mrs Beaufort-Stuart?” she asked anxiously. Maddie did not dare to speak; she closed her eyes and leant back against the back of the chair. It seemed there was nothing there to support her. She could hear Jamie’s voice; she tried to cling to the sound of it, thinking that as long as she held onto that sound, she would be all right.

“We know a young American lady,” Jamie was explaining, “who spent six months in Ravensbrück, and she is not here tonight because she’s still struggling to live normal life, nearly eight months after getting out.”

There was a murmur of sympathy and Jamie continued, “She’s one of my wife’s dear friends, her bridesmaid at our wedding. Her absence is keenly felt tonight, I’m afraid.” He squeezed Maddie’s hand and gave the men an almost apologetic look.

“Oh dear, that is simply dreadful,” the woman said, understanding the cue to change the subject, and she turned the conversation elsewhere.

But enough had been said.

 

It came back to Maddie later, in her unguarded hours of sleep, and she woke with a panicky feeling in her throat, unable to make a sound. She just lay there, in the dark, trying and failing to speak. Jamie woke and tried to hold her, but she flailed her arms, fighting him off, making a horrible near-soundless gasping that gave him chills.

“Maddie,” he said softly, recognising she was having another bad dream. “Maddie, darling, wake up.”

She sat up, and in the deep shadows of the room he saw her looking at him with wild, terrified eyes. “Gran,” she said, high and frightened. “Don’t take my gran.”

“Who wants to take her?” Jamie asked, still very softly.

“Nazis,” came the answer. “I tell them no, they mustn’t, but they are all bigger than me, and—and they tie her up and make her watch while they rape me, one of them holding me down while the other one—” She choked on her words and her voice became thin with panic, “and I try to scream for help, and I can’t make a sound. Like what might have happened if I hadn’t had a gun to keep Paul away from me, me backing into a corner whimpering and helpless, being forced to—oh, go _away_!” She swung at him, and he caught her wrists and held them.

He realised suddenly that she was still caught up in the nightmare and did not know him. But he did not let go of her. “Shhh, Maddie,” he said soothingly. “There are no Nazis here, and no Nazis in Stockport. The war is over. Your gran is safe and so are you. I won’t let anyone hurt my Maddie.”

“I have to go to Gran,” she said, desperately trying to free herself. “They’re going to take her to Auschwitz and gas her. I can’t let them gas her. I couldn’t stop them raping me, but I _have_ to stop them taking her away.” Another sob. “It hurts. Why do they do it? I’m not a _good_ girl any more. I don’t want Jamie to know—”

“Maddie, no amount of somebody else’s brutality could _ever_ make you a ‘bad girl’. Don’t even _think_ such a thing,” he said firmly. “Wake up, Maddie! It’s a dream! The war is over, and no Nazis are coming to rape you or take your gran. I promise.”

His mind raced. She had not been in this much of a state after the other dream, and he had to find a way to get her awake.

“You could call her,” he said. “If she tells you she’s all right, would you feel better?”

“No, I have to _see_ her!” Again she tried to escape his grasp and failed, and her voice was hoarse with fury. “Let me _go_!”

So he shook her as hard as he could without hurting her. “Wake up, Maddie,” he said sharply. “Wake _up_.” And he switched on the bedside lamp, hoping that might help startle her out of it.

She stared at him in the light for a long moment, and then recognition flickered into her eyes and she collapsed in a sobbing heap against him. He held her again, waiting, stroking her hair, and when she quieted she pulled away from him and lay back down. “It seemed so _real_ ,” she said, barely audible. “I felt so trapped and I could smell some sort of sickening cologne on that horrible beast who was on top of me, I could feel his weight and he was so rough and just—just _awful_ .” She sniffed again. “I felt so ashamed and filthy—please, Jamie,” she pleaded. “It might just have been a dream, but I _have_ to go see my gran. If you won’t come with me, I’ll go alone.”

“Of course I’ll come with you,” he said. He turned out the light again and cuddled up next to her, holding her hand. He whispered reassuring words into her ear for a moment, but she was silent and unresponsive after that, and he soon fell asleep again.

But Maddie got out of bed and sat in the window seat, her hands clenching tensely on the shawl she’d wrapped herself in, looking out into the darkness. She was still there when Jamie woke in the morning, her eyes as grey and moody and heavy as the clouds outside. She did not go down to breakfast, opting instead to pack their bags so they could leave as soon as possible.

Jamie was very worried as he joined his mother in her room. He dropped into his father’s chair and sat there brooding, and Esmé asked him what was the matter.

He told her. She stirred her tea slowly and looked contemplative for a few minutes. “I dreamed of giving birth to twenty-seven jellyfish before you were born,” she mused, mostly to herself. “It was so vivid I can still remember exactly what it felt like, all those endless wet slithering things piling up at my feet—and me thinking they would all soon die if I couldn’t get them into the sea, and trying to remember a single time I could have possibly gotten _that_ cosy with a male jellyfish, and what on earth your father would say—”

“Mother!” Jamie looked up, mildly horrified.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking herself out of her reverie and looking a bit self-conscious. “My point is that it’s perfectly normal for expectant mothers to have strange and lucid dreams, but even aside from that Maddie is still grappling with all she’s seen and borne and had to do the past several years. It’s going to take time. She’s bottled it all up, and there’s no more room in the bottle. I’m afraid it might be a rough seven months ahead for her. For you too. And it may or may not end after the baby comes.” She sighed, and they were both quiet for a while.

“I’m taking her to Stockport this morning,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted us here.”

She squeezed his hand. “She’s your priority, darling, not my guests. I’ll look after them. You do whatever you need to do to keep _her_ well and happy.”


	5. Thing Five

Maddie was on the edge of her seat most of the way to Stockport. The dream had been so realistic and unsettling that even now, in daylight, the memory of it was like being held under water, and she was afraid to go back to sleep lest she dream again.

She and Jamie did not talk much, mostly because everything they said to each other seemed to trigger tears on Maddie’s part. Occasionally he convinced her to lean against him and close her eyes, but any time she nodded off she would jerk back, instantly on the alert again.

Maddie did not so much walk to the house from the station as run. Jamie could only just keep up with her, and when she reached the house she sprinted inside, leaving the front door open behind her.

When he caught up, Maddie was already in her grandmother’s warm embrace, sobbing and holding on to her as if she would never let go, and Gran was saying, “Mercy on us, Maddie, what _has_ happened?”

Maddie was too distraught to answer at first. Gran took her to the kitchen table, sat her down beside Jamie, and made tea for the three of them. Then slowly, with a little coaxing from Gran and considerable prompting and commentary from Jamie, Maddie told the entire sordid dream, amid more rivers of tears. She ended with her cheek resting on the table, too tired even to hold up her head anymore.

“She has not slept since,” Jamie added, when she’d finished. “Said she couldn't until she saw you were safe.” He stroked the mop of curls fondly and bent down and kissed it.

“Well, I’m perfectly all right,” Gran said, eyeing Maddie with concern. “But _you_ don’t look very well, little one. I’ll get the extra bed made up, and then, Maddie, you are taking a nap.”

Maddie had cried herself out, and her exhaustion prevented protest. She let herself be led. Jamie helped her out of her coat and tucked her up in bed and kissed her cheek as he left her to rest.

While she slept, Jamie sat in the warm kitchen with Gran while she made a pot of Maddie’s favourite soup, and he told her about the nightmares as Maddie had told him, and the conversation at the party that had been the cause of this particular one, and about Rose.

“Maddie never told me any of that,” Gran said, looking sad, leaning back against the counter and folding her arms. “She’s always been a quiet one, though. She’s not one to ask many questions or open her heart. Everything’s down deep inside. Just like her dad. Always had to catch him at the right moment and be direct, if you wanted him to take you into his counsel, and he never took his losses easily. I have lost all my children, and I know it leaves a great gaping hole, but some of us have a harder time getting on with life than others.”

Jamie was about to ask her to elaborate, but her eye saw the the clock and said suddenly, “Oh, I must call the shop and tell Mr Brodatt you and Maddie are here, and not to be late,” and she hurried out of the room, leaving him to wonder, and it did not seem to him respectful to bring it up again on his own. He didn’t know her well enough yet for that, but he decided he would see what Maddie could tell him. Perhaps tomorrow.

At six, Gran went into the bedroom and shook Maddie gently. She stirred and stretched and opened one eye. “Granddad’s home. Come have supper,” she urged, and Maddie got up and joined them in the dining room.

Maddie first gave her granddad a big long hug and then they all sat together and ate. Maddie was pale and quiet, and shaky from not having eaten yet that day, but otherwise seemed much more herself. She wasted no time in devouring a generous helping of soup and bread, forgetting her need for caution in the evening.

“I am so glad to be home again,” she said fervently, out of the blue. “I have missed you both so much.”

“Well, we’re glad too,” said her grandfather, handing her another chunk of bread. Jamie opened his mouth to tell her to slow down, then shut it again and gave her a Look instead. She made a face at him and took another defiant bite of soup. A few minutes later she remembered what happened when she ate too much in the evening, and left the table in a graceless rush.

Gran glanced at Maddie’s retreating figure, and then looked at Jamie for an explanation.

“You’ll likely find her lying on her bed trying not to be sick,” he said softly. “Morning sickness, my foot. _She_ gets it in the evening.”

“A baby?” Gran whispered, and Jamie nodded once. A look he did not understand passed over her face, and she abruptly excused herself from the table and went after Maddie.

She found her flat on her back on her bed, just as Jamie had predicted, with her lips pressed together tightly, staring at the ceiling.

“My stomach is revolting,” Maddie said simply.

“Bless you, Maddie,” Gran said, leaning over her and softly kissing her head. “You stay there as long as you need to. You and Jamie didn’t waste any time, did you?”

Maddie looked at her sharply. “With what?”

Gran sighed and looked at her tolerantly. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Starting a family.”

“Apparently I am the world’s worst secret keeper,” Maddie said darkly. “Esmé knew, too, before I told her.”

“You’re not at all yourself, Maddie,” she said. “I knew _something_ was up. Jamie said I’d find you in here trying not to be sick, so I asked him why.”    

“I was going to tell you tonight anyway,” she added. “But I’d envisioned it being a little less gormless.” She laid a hand over her baby, as she often did now. She could only feel a tiny swelling, if she pressed on it gently, and it didn’t show.

“You are a lucky girl, Maddie,” Gran said, pulling a chair closer to the bed to sit on. “Your Jamie is a treasure and he adores you.”

Maddie nodded. “He is wonderfully good to me,” she said, and then she saw Gran’s hesitant expression. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am. But I want to know if Jamie knows about your mother.”

“Oh.” Maddie looked away. “No.”

“Don’t you think you should tell him?”

“Why should I? I don’t want him to know,” she whispered fiercely. “And don’t _you_ tell him, either. Promise me you won’t!”

Gran delayed answering for a moment, but at Maddie’s insistence, she at last reluctantly agreed. “But it’s not right,” she said. “He really should know, Maddie.”

“I’ll be the one to decide when that happens,” Maddie retorted staunchly. “I don’t want to think about it.” Her mood had soured in an instant, and Gran sensed that further remonstrance at this point would only increase Maddie’s stubbornness, so she sighed, patted her shoulder gently, and left the room.

She took her place at the table again and leant towards Jamie, whispering, “Well, she’s in a bit of a mood now.”

“Sounds about right,” Jamie replied. “She’s downright mercurial lately.”

Gran laid her hand on his, trying to decide how much she could tell him without breaking her promise to Maddie, and when she spoke at last, her voice was brisk and cheerful. “Don’t you fret about her, young man. She’s always been strong and healthy. In about another month she’ll likely be herself again. It’s no fun to feel sick all the time and know there is _nothing_ you can really do about it except wait. It would make anyone fractious.”

Granddad laughed. “You’ll live through, Jamie. Somehow I still seem to like this woman fine.” He squeezed his wife’s free hand.   

“Oh, go on, Mr Brodatt,” Gran said, waving away her husband’s teasing, but her eyes were laughing.

“I should warn you both that coffee sets her off,” Jamie offered. “Can’t _stand_ the smell. And she’s a wee bit obsessed with cherries.”

“She’s in luck there,” Gran said. “I’ve a pot or two of cherry jam in the cupboard.”

“Come round to the shop with me,” Granddad invited Jamie. “I’ve got some extra petrol over there we can bring back for Maddie. If I know her at all, she’ll be wanting to take that bike of hers out for a spin in the morning.”

“You’re not going to _encourage_ such a thing, surely, Mr Brodatt?” Gran asked, helping him into his coat.

“Why not? When is the last time Maddie cared about anyone else’s opinion when a noisy toy was involved, Mrs Brodatt?” He grinned and kissed her. “We’ll be back soon.”

 

The next morning Maddie was cheerful and well-rested, and she took Jamie up to her old room after breakfast. She threw herself down hard on her little bed and bounced a bit. “The springs are still as noisy as ever,” she said gaily. “Drove Gran crazy, but I liked the sound.” She reached for her bizarre corduroy cat and hugged it to her chest happily. He lay down beside her and slipped his arm around her waist.

“Hey, cat,” he said, giving its tail a tiny tug.

“Her name is Kitty. I think I’ll bring her home with us for the baby.” She saw Jamie’s eyes move to some pictures propped up on her nightstand.

“That’s Beryl and me when we were girl guides. And me and Dympna while she was teaching me to fly.”

“And us,” he said happily, nodding at the one in front, from their wedding.

“I used to hug that one sometimes when I was home at night and felt lonely,” she said. She picked it up now and held it in the hand that was not full of stuffed cat and they looked at it.

“Best day of my life—up to that point,” he said. She smiled and kissed him and opened the drawer of her nightstand, taking out a small photo album. She laid it on the pillow in front of them and opened it. “This is my parents on their wedding day,” she pointed to the first one. “And these two are my mum when she was little, and when she finished high school.”

“You look like her,” he said, and he looked at her curiously. “You know, you’ve never told me anything about your mother.”

She gave him a sharp look, suspicious for a split second of her grandmother, then decided it was coincidence. “I don’t remember her,” she said simply, and turned quickly to the next page. “Dad and me on his bike. I think I might have been about six. And Beryl and me again—that’s out of order, though, we were thirteen there—and  Dad and me on my eighth birthday. And this is the last picture we had taken together, on a ride out to picnic in the Pennines in the spring of ’29. He died two weeks after. That was the summer we went to Paris. This is the three of us at a café, and this one I’m up there in the Eiffel Tower with Granddad, too small to see. And the only picture I have of me and Julie,” she said. It was loose, tucked inside the back cover. “When she was here in Stockport with me those three days. I’m _so_ glad Gran snapped it.”

They looked at it silently a minute, at two carefree girls frozen in time forever on the floor of Gran’s sitting room, holding mugs of cocoa and beaming. “You both look so happy,” he remarked softly, tightening his arm around her. “Wish I’d been here then too.”

“Let’s go look at my bike,” Maddie said abruptly, stuffing the album back in the drawer, taking his hand, and leading him out.

Maddie spent a happy hour tinkering with the too-long-neglected Silent Superb. It was cold in the garage, but Maddie had become a human furnace and didn’t notice, and Jamie brought out a mug of hot tea to keep his own hands warm, sipping from it occasionally as he watched her from his perch on a cluttered workbench. He loved seeing her so absorbed and pleased and contented. Once she was satisfied, she took the lunch Gran had somewhat reluctantly wrapped up for them, put it in the basket in front with an old blanket, buttoned up her coat, and hopped on the bike. “Ever been on one of these?” she asked, putting on her goggles.

“No,” he said. “Are you _sure_ this is a wise thing to do?”

“Oh, stop sounding like a grandmother! I know very well how to ride this thing,” she assured him. “The baby’s too tiny to come to any harm, anyway, even if I should fall off. But I won’t. Come _on_ , it’s like flying!” She smiled broadly and irresistibly, and he gave in and climbed on behind her, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her cheek and she revved up and tore down the road.

It was a beautiful day, if chilly, and Maddie was exuberant. They got up to her favourite haunt and spread the blanket on the grass to lie on for a bit to watch the clouds racing in the sky before eating their lunch. Maddie nestled up beside Jamie and said, “I’m sorry for being such a grouch.”

He turned and propped himself up on his side to look at her. “Are you at peace with the dream now?”

She nodded. “Just seeing for myself that Gran was all right was all I needed. And some sleep. I’m dead ashamed of myself for letting a dream make such a fool out of me.”

“No,” he said. “Don’t be! You have a lot bottled up, Maddie-love. Unleash your demons, and I will help you fight them however I can.”

“I suppose I do.” Her fingertips traced idly over the seams of his coat and her eyes were thoughtful, unfathomable. He felt in that instant that there was so much he still did not really know about her, and he wanted so badly to get inside her enigmatic mind, to understand her fears and learn what made her tick—but he sensed she was not in a mood to divulge secrets just now, not any more than she had been willing to talk about her parents earlier. He reminded himself that he had his entire life ahead of him for solving her mysteries, so he settled on a different sort of quest in the meantime. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and his other hand wandered up her leg and under her skirt. His eyes were soft with longing. “Can we—”

“Here in the _open_?” she asked, shocked. Her eyes darted quickly around. There was nothing to hide them.

“And just how many people frequent this remote spot in November?” His eyes lit up a bit at the prospect of challenge.

“Not many,” she admitted slowly. She was weakening. He caught a tiny flicker of a smile.

“Well then.” He brushed his lips teasingly close to hers and pulled the blanket up around them. “I hope you know we were far more likely to have been discovered in Mother’s drawing room.”

“The door was locked!” she said, giggling.

“The windows weren’t.”   

“You _are_ ridiculous! What would people do, climb the rose trellis?”

“My brothers and I _have_ climbed the rose trellis. And I _am_ ridiculous. But you like it, I know you d—”

She threw herself onto him and shut him up with a kiss.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” he said, low, when he could speak again. The catlike lunacy glinted in his eyes as he smoothly rolled her over, went for her neck, and, as usual, she melted—for a moment. She was determined to make him work for what he wanted, and after a moment she had squirmed out of his arms and was off running. He chased her down and caught her and pinned her against a tree, kissing her until they were both breathless and laughing. She was able to free one of her arms and tickled him until he let her go out of sheer self-preservation, and then she tackled him.

They were just like a couple of kittens play fighting, thoroughly and noisily enjoying every minute of pretending to be fierce with each other. They ended up some distance from their abandoned blanket, tangled together in their open overcoats, rosy and winded and glowing, and very, very full of tranquil, timeless stillness. Maddie smiled at him. The wind ruffled her hair; her eyes were bright and alive, and Jamie’s heart ached with love for her. He did not want this moment to end.

She ended it. “Shall we go fetch our lunch?” she asked. “The baby is getting rather peckish.”

“All right,” he agreed, giving her one last lingering kiss. “You are always hungry at the _most_ inconvenient times.”

“I am hungry after I have exerted myself more than usual,” she replied archly. “As well as after I have not eaten properly for several weeks, and also when I have a little human parasite feeding off of me.”

“I suppose none of those problems apply to me,” he admitted, still not wanting to let go of her.

“You can drive us home afterwards,” Maddie offered unexpectedly. “If you want to, that is.”

“I’d love it. But let me try it a bit without you first. Wouldn’t want to tip you off.” He leant in to kiss her again and she laughed and pulled away from him.

“Stop distracting me, Mr Beaufort-Stuart, I want my lunch!”

 

“How long are you two planning to stay?” Granddad asked at supper that night. “I’d certainly be glad to have a proper Hanukkah this year. You’ve missed it for years, Maddie, and it’s just not the same without you.”

Maddie’s eyes brightened. “I’d love to! If it’s all right with Jamie.” She glanced at him enquiringly, and he took her hand.

“I don’t mind a bit. Something new to me, and Mother doesn’t care how long we stay, as long as we’re home for Christmas.”

“Can we ask Beryl?” Beryl had always been there with Maddie for the first night of Hanukkah, and now she had little ones of her own who would enjoy it.

“Of course,” Gran said.

“And will you teach me to make latkes?”

“You want me to teach you to _cook_ something?” Gran looked a bit shocked.

“Maddie is becoming quite adventuresome. You should taste her scones,” Jamie volunteered. “Heaven on a plate. A bit heavy on the cherry content lately, but we don’t mind.”

“Well, wonders never cease,” Gran said. “I could count on one hand the times I got Maddie to stay in the kitchen with me long enough to finish making _anything_ to eat. Of course I’ll teach you!”

“Fresh air and bikes must agree with me,” Maddie said happily. “I don’t feel one bit sick tonight, and I am _starving_.”   

Jamie stifled a laugh. “Fresh air and bikes and a _damned_ good shagging,” he murmured into her ear.

She went quite pink and dropped her fork on the floor deliberately so she could hide under the table for a moment fetching it.

 

She felt better with each night that passed. In the daytime Jamie went to the shop with Granddad, whilst Gran took Maddie along to call on old friends or go shopping for things for the baby.

“You’ll spoil the poor babe before it’s even born,” Maddie laughed, protesting, but Gran insisted.

“You are my only grandchild and I have nobody else to spoil,” she pointed out. “I’m excited at any prospect of keeping the family line in existence.”

 

 **30 November 1945**      

Friday was busy. Gran sent Jamie out to fetch some things from town whilst she and Maddie decorated the dining room and polished the silver menorah. When he got back he stole into the kitchen and threw his arms around unsuspecting Maddie from behind. She gave a very gratifying jump and scream, and he sat down and pulled her onto his lap, stealing a kiss. She squirmed a little to free herself, but she didn’t try very hard. He _was_ terribly hard to resist. She knew how absolutely ridiculous they must look, but Gran was turning a blind eye to their shenanigans, and it did feel so lovely to be cherished and cuddled by someone you loved.

“I need to make latkes, sir. I’m afraid you’ll have to let go of me,” she finally managed to say.

“But my hands won’t have anything to do if they aren’t holding you,” he said.

“You can peel and chop up the apples for the applesauce.” She reached for a paring knife and held it out to him.

“Trying to get rid of the fingers I have left, are we?”

“No, you goose. Really, you must let me go—”

“All right, but first I have to make you have second thoughts about leaving,” and he gave her another kiss that sent happy little shivers all down her body, and then he relinquished her to her duties.

Gran found an apron for Maddie. “Won’t have you spoiling your brand-new clothes with splattering oil,” she said, laughing.

“That would be a first,” Maddie pointed out. “Usually it’s mud.”

“Or grease. Mud is _somewhat_ easier to get out,” Gran said, and looked at Jamie, grinning. “This is why Maddie wore so much brown as a girl. The mud didn’t show so much. _Oh_ , so much mud. She didn't have tea parties with her dolls, she had mud-pie parties with spare engine parts.”

“I did not, either," Maddie contradicted. “They were dolls."

“But they were made out of engine parts," Gran insisted. “Strangest-looking dolls in Stockport, they were. Here's a grater, Maddie."

She and Gran set about shredding a seemingly endless heap of potatoes and onions while Jamie filled a kettle with apple chunks to cook down into fresh applesauce.

 

Midafternoon Granddad went to collect Beryl and her kiddies, and neighbours began arriving with big paper sacksfull of sufganiyot and bottles of cider and other things. Instantly everything was cheerful mayhem, and the lights and bustle and the noise of the children made everything a hundred times more pleasant.

Gran had set things up informally, buffet-style, and most everyone stood about eating and talking cheerfully, except for Beryl’s offspring, who seemed to prefer running back and forth like wild Indians over eating, and Maddie hovered lovingly near the food, feeling like she could eat all night and still be starving.

“You’re putting the applesauce _on_ your tatties?” Jamie asked her, looking slightly perplexed. “Is this another of your strange cravings?”

“How else would you eat latkes?” she asked matter-of-factly, adding a generous scoop of sour cream on top of the sauce. “Everyone eats latkes with applesauce _and_ sour cream on top.”

She gave him a bite. He took it gamely, but shook his head. “Everyone except me, darling. I’m afraid my tastebuds aren’t Jewish enough for that.”

She laughed at him. “Your loss! But I hardly think anyone will notice whether you eat them properly, anyway.”

Maddie was pardonably smug about her newly-acquired latke-making skill, and everyone complimented her lavishly. Gran lit the first candle, Granddad pulled Jamie and into a dreidel game with the children, and Beryl and Maddie sat in a corner with their heads together whispering over glasses of cider.

“How’s Henry?” Maddie asked. “I was hoping he might come with you.”

“No better, I’m afraid,” was the melancholy reply. “I tried to talk him into it, but he’s getting _so_ afraid of people he doesn’t know. I keep hoping every day that I’ll start seeing some improvement, but there just isn’t any. I keep telling myself, ‘Beryl, you’ll just have to accept that this is the way things are now.’ But I don’t _want_ to. I just _can’t_ believe that this is how we have to spend the rest of our lives. I wish we could leave Manchester. Maybe in a new place there might be some hope. But we’ll never be able to manage it.”

Maddie hugged Beryl impetuously. “Don’t cry, Beryl. Somehow, surely things will work out.”

“Tell me about you!” Beryl said, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Tell me about the castle you’re living in!”

Maddie laughed. “I don’t mind it, I guess. It’s so big, and it’s not mine, and there’s no way for me to be _really_ useful, you know? But Jamie’s mother is so good to me that we’ll stay on there a while longer. Until after the baby comes, anyway.”

“You’re having a baby?” Beryl forgot her own misery and grinned.

Maddie nodded. “In June!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Beryl said, sighing happily. She looked over at the energetic dreidel game in the corner. Jamie had her littlest one in his lap and the other two were hovering around him, and he was clearly revelling in their attentions and repaying them with typical Beaufort-Stuart nonsense that made them laugh uproariously. “He’s going to make a wonderful daddy.”

“I think so too,” Maddie agreed. “His mother’s adopted two of the eight Glaswegian orphan lads she took in back in ’41, and they still follow him about like puppies a fair amount of the time, even though they’re sixteen and eleven now. First thing they did when we got back from our honeymoon was storm him like he’d been gone for years. It’s quite precious.”    

 

The following Saturday morning, Jamie helped Maddie pack up things. Gran gave them the silver menorah, despite Maddie’s protests (“I can get another, this one needs to go with you”) and they hugged and kissed her grandparents and Gran promised to come up in the summer as soon as Maddie sent for her. They walked hand in hand through the December mist toward the station and climbed aboard and Jamie said, quite seriously, “I am so glad I do not ever have to send you off alone on a train again.”

“Me too,” Maddie agreed.

For a while they watched the mist go by, and then Jamie remembered he'd never asked Maddie about Gran's other children. “She said ‘I've lost all my children’, but I thought your father was the only one.”

“Only surviving child,” Maddie answered. “He had an older brother who died before he was two—influenza, I think it was. He died on the third of January, and Granddad goes every single year, no matter how awful the weather is, and leaves a stone on his grave. I went with him a few times because my parents are buried next to the baby, and we’d leave stones for them too. Gran won’t ever go along. It’s her way of coping, I guess. And she had at least one miscarriage after that first boy died, and they kind of gave up hope after that. But then my father was born, and he was the absolute joy of their lives.”

Jamie thought about that for a long time. “The poor woman. How dreadful for her.”

“She and Granddad aren’t very demonstrative, but they are very close, despite all that sadness. Lots of couples wouldn’t pull through that. I’ve always known they loved each other.” She was quiet a minute. “She told me a few days ago to not be so shy of being affectionate with you. That if you and I bond together now, we will be strong enough to cope through trouble later. Exhaustion from the baby or whatever. I expect she wants to make sure we could pull through, the same as her and Granddad, if—”

She let her words hang, but he caught her drift.

“I have lost Davie and Julie,” he said. “You’ve lost your parents and Julie. I cannot believe anything more can happen to us, to you and me and the baby. I just can’t. I still need my personal victory, and this baby might be it.”

Maddie sighed and took his hand. “I hope for your sake that it is.”

When they reached the station at home, Jamie handed her down to the platform and took her shoulders to turn her toward where someone was unloading something from one of the other cars, and her mouth dropped open and she turned to him, her face aglow. “You’ve brought my bike! You’ve brought my bike!”     

He hugged her. “Ready to drive us home and scare the living daylights out of Mother?” He took the key out of his pocket and dangled it in front of her, and she grinned and kissed him as she snatched it and pulled him along behind her toward the bike.

 

Esmé was peacefully knitting near her bedroom window upstairs when she heard an unfamiliar rumble approaching. She dropped her work and threw open the window just in time to see Maddie tearing into the courtyard like a madwoman, braking hard, she and Jamie laughing like a couple of idiots.       

“What are you _doing_ ?” she called down, her face positively scandalised. “Jamie, have you lost your _mind_?”

But Maddie just laughed and gave Esmé a big, winning wave and smile.

Esmé met them downstairs and roundly scolded them both for being so foolhardy, but Maddie’s joy was so infectious that, in the end, she relented.

 

Maddie’s nightly nausea became fully a thing of the past by Christmas. She moved as lightly and energetically as she ever had, and refused to be coddled. She had mood swings—usually relating to the status of the Craig Castle cherry supply—but nobody minded those very much. Mostly she was very happy, and she went exploring on her bike as often as the weather allowed.

She and Jamie took long walks in the mornings, sometimes taking a lunch with them if the day was fine and they felt adventuresome. Some days they talked endlessly and intimately, and other days not much at all, but both kinds of outings were pleasant.

February came, and things changed abruptly again. One day Maddie woke up as usual, but after lunch she felt every ounce of energy in her drain away, suddenly and inexplicably. The next morning she felt no different, and the next. She sat about listlessly all day every day for two weeks, and when night came, she was too tired to do anything more than whisper goodnight to Jamie and go straight to sleep.

Esmé was concerned by the sudden change.

Jamie missed her tremendously.

Maddie felt nothing, nothing at all.


	6. Thing Six

**20 February 1946**

In the dark bedroom, Maddie woke up from another vivid and terrible dream. She had not dreamed for nearly two weeks now, not since she had been overcome by the mysterious lethargy. She had dropped into bed every night and slept so hard there were no dreams. It was not a war-related nightmare this time, nothing that set her awake screaming, but it was chilling in its own way, and she instinctively reached for Jamie, needing to be held, to know she was not alone. He did hold her a moment, and she pressed herself into him, trying to hide.

But then he began kissing her. She turned her face away, but he did not stop, and she tried to pull away, but he was too strong for her. She felt panicked, as if she had woken from a bad dream only to find she was still dreaming. She knew he felt deprived; she was just always too tired. She was not awake enough to form coherent thoughts or sentences; she only knew she could not stop him, and she wilted and felt herself go cold as ice inside. She could not make herself respond to him any more than she could stop his advances, and it was easier to just give in to him than to resist or try to explain.

Afterwards came the tears: delayed tears for the dream first, cold, big, silent ones. She was so quiet that Jamie, who had directly fallen asleep again, did not hear her, and she left their room and went to Julie’s bed and sobbed into her pillow until she was drained of everything and fell into a troubled sleep, from which she woke to a sickening, suffocating sort of dread in the morning. She did not _want_ to be awake.

Jamie found her there, curled into a ball with her eyes closed, her face tracked lavishly with trails of tears.

“What’s wrong, Maddie?” He reached out to touch her face, and she recoiled from him. Her eyes were still wet, and there was a despair and anger in them he had never seen before.

She shook her head and turned her face away. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t even want to _look_ at him, so clearly oblivious to the fact that he had hurt her.

“Coming down for breakfast?”

She shook her head again.

He looked at her with mild concern, but said nothing else and went downstairs. He assumed Maddie would collect herself in an hour or so and be ready to talk about it. Esmé asked no questions at first, either, since Maddie more often than not had not come to breakfast these past two weeks.

But Maddie wasn’t collected in an hour or so. All day long she lay curled on Julie’s bed, getting up only to traipse to the bathroom or get a drink. She felt crushed by crippling insecurity and fear, felt physically ill from it, and she wanted to just sleep endlessly so she didn’t have to face it.

But she couldn’t sleep. Her brain went around and around endlessly; every sad thing that had ever happened to her, no matter how trivial, leapt forefront in her mind, taunting her into fresh tears. Jamie came and checked on her a few times, but she wouldn’t talk to him, so he sent Esmé up. Maddie let Esmé hold her while she sobbed—she couldn’t seem to stop _sobbing_ —but she had no words to articulate.

“Was it another dream?” Esmé asked.

Maddie nodded.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“No,” she choked out. “I can’t tell _anyone._ ”

Esmé sighed, her heart going out in sympathy to this poor frightened girl, and she hugged her close. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you,” she said soothingly. “But I am here to listen if you change your mind. All right?”

Another nod from the tousled black head. Esmé did not let go for a long time, not until she felt Maddie relax against her and she saw that she had fallen asleep.

Several days went by and the crisis did not ease. Jamie began to get a bit sulky. He had grown used to her nearly constant company, and he did not approve of this seeming snubbery from his darling Maddie. He sent for the midwife and then a doctor, but Maddie wouldn’t tell them anything either, and she was annoyed that everyone just wouldn’t leave her alone.

Esmé was primarily concerned about Maddie's refusal to eat. She was relentless about the food she brought up for her, in turns bribing and begging and threatening to force-feed her if she didn't do it herself. Maddie reluctantly ate just enough to keep Esmé from fulfilling the last threat. “I just don’t care,” she said flatly. “I don’t _want_ to eat.”

Even the boys seemed to sense something was amiss in the house. They were quieter than usual and didn’t come tramping upstairs as they were wont to do. Nothing was right.

Maddie felt like an empty shell. She knew Jamie’s feelings had been hurt, but so had hers, and her insecurity deepened into a black Thing that settled over her, smothery and terrible, withering her will to try to do anything. Everything was too overwhelming and tragic. Her brain seemed to have lost its ability to be rational.

All she knew was that if she told Jamie about the dream, she would have to divulge how her mother died. She was sure she simply _couldn’t_ tell him that. Her voice froze in her throat at the mere idea. She curled herself into a ball around her corduroy cat, the slim but solitary thread of connection between her and her mother, and hid her face with her arms and just stay put: silent, and surviving, and sad.

 

She got up out of bed before it was light Sunday morning and paced the room, twisting her hands and snivelling. It was the first time in days that she had been off the bed to do more than attend to the most basic of needs. She went down to the kitchen and raided the pantry shelves, not so much because she felt like eating anything, but because it was something to do while she tried to pull herself out of the hole she was in, and it was still too early for even the cook to be about to question or cluck over her. She had three sandwiches and two pieces of pie and a mug of milk and some stale biscuits that were probably going to be tossed to the hens.

When she finished stuffing herself, she went back upstairs. She’d stopped crying. She felt stronger now, her mind was less foggy, and she was furious.

She didn’t care if it was four in the morning. She threw open the door of their room and it banged against the wall like thunder. She stalked over to their bed, turned on the light, yanked the blankets off the bed and glowered at Jamie, who sat up and blinked at her, disoriented at the rude awakening.

“Maybe next time you want to have sex with me, you can take my feelings into account,” she said, not at all quietly.

He stared at her in surprise. She was blazing with indignation, completely at odds with the cowering person she had been for the last several days.

“Sometimes I just want to be held. I had a horrible, unspeakable dream, and I needed to be held. To be comforted. Not _used_.”

He was speechless, trying to make the connection in his half-asleep mind and failing. “What are you talking about?” he asked, blankly.

“The other night, obviously.”

He had to think a moment more before he understood. “You could have told me,” he said finally.

“You didn’t _ask_ ,” she replied bitterly. “You may recall I did try to turn away from you and push you off, but no, I am an object of your lust and whim, and you _would_ just take me by force.”

“That’s not true,” he said defensively.

“Maybe you don’t think it is, but _I_ do. Maybe you don’t care about that. I’ve been sitting here these last two weeks all but paralysed by something I can’t understand myself, let alone begin to make _you_ understand.” She climbed on the bed on her hands and knees with her face inches away from his. She had an illogical obsession to hurt him, to make him suffer in proportion to her own suffering.

“You haven’t asked what my dream was about. I’ll tell you,” she said, fixing him with a stare that made him astoundingly uncomfortable, and her voice was high and intense. “I dreamed about my mother. About when I was born.” She took a deep breath. “Everything was bright and white and empty. Impersonal. You know how hospitals are. Well, I was there as a baby, of course, but I was also there as me now, watching, and the baby me was in the arms of a nurse, and my mother was bleeding profusely, gasping for breath and turning grey, but she was reaching for me despite all that, and everyone just ignored her. They’d cut me out of her because there was no hope left for her and they decided to save me instead. She was trying to speak, and they couldn’t understand her. But _I_ understood her voiceless pleading. It was for _me_ , and I started to cry for her. But they took me out of the room instead. She never held me or kissed me or even got to touch me at all. She was dead within half an hour, and nobody who mattered was there when she needed them most. My father wasn’t told anything until it was too late for her to speak to him; I wasn’t in her arms where a new baby belongs. I went home with my father that night, alone, to a dark and empty house, both of us bereft forever. And that’s when I woke up and I needed to be held. _Only_ held. Because it wasn’t just a dream. It was real. Gran told me about it, and I _know_ it was real.”

Whatever Jamie had been expecting, it was not a revelation this raw and ragged and coldly delivered, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He stared at her for a minute, then got up and went to the window and looked at the dusky outdoors without seeing anything. Maddie sat herself primly on the edge of the bed with her head high, taking a bit of selfish pleasure in having given him a turn. Revenge was sweet, for a moment.

Suddenly he strode over, pulled her to her feet, and held her by the shoulders. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me this a long time ago? I would sooner have died myself than give you a child to bear that might kill you.” He was not shaking her, but his eyes blazed, and his grip on her was like a vise. She’d never seen him so worked up, and the sharpness of his tone stung deeply, and her brave front began to crack a little.

She turned her face away, trying to pull out of his grasp, but he would not let go. “It wasn’t _me_ that killed her,” she said, and her voice grew louder until she was almost screaming. “It was blood poisoning. She was always sickly. I’m not. I’m not going to die. I am _not going to die._ ” She was as much trying to convince herself as Jamie, and she could see it wasn’t working on him. “I am not to blame for everything. It’s your baby too! Let _go_ , Jamie, you’re hurting my arms.”

He did let go, and she staggered backwards a little as he turned abruptly, snatched up his coat, and walked out of the room without another word. She stepped into the hall and watched him go, and then suddenly all her bravado crumbled.

She half-staggered into Julie’s room. “What have I _done_?” she moaned, sinking to the vanity stool and hiding her face in her hands.

 

Esmé had woken at the crash of the door, had heard Maddie’s voice down the hall, and peeked out just as Jamie charged down the stairs. She decided it was time to go intervene. But Maddie would not answer her calls or knocks at Julie’s bedroom door, which was locked—Esmé could faintly hear her crying.

Esmé thought for a moment. She didn’t like leaving Maddie alone in distress, but she wasn’t about to break the door down, either. In the end she went down to the main hall and parked herself there with a book, knowing one or the other of the warring factions had to come past eventually, and when Jamie did come in several hours later, she slammed the book shut to startle him and said sternly, “James, what have you done to Maddie?”

She saw at once that he’d been crying too, and her heart softened a little, but her tone did not. “You owe me an explanation, sir. Come with me,” she said, and she took his arm, as if he was still an errant child, and led him to the library. She locked the door and sat him down and asked him to explain himself.

“You’ve seen her. She just sits silent all day long and falls asleep the minute she lies down at night. It just came out of nowhere. I was as surprised as you were that day when she just kind of fell to pieces after lunch.”

“Well, sometime in between then and now something's happened to make it worse. What is it that you're not telling me?”

“She just drops into bed and falls asleep every night. No kisses. Not even holding hands. She curls up around that stuffed cat of hers instead, with her back to me. She didn’t want me to touch her at all.”

“And did you?”

He avoided her piercing gaze. “She’s slept in Julie’s bed for several nights now.”

“That is not what I asked you.”

He looked offended. “I did not know I was expected to let you know every time I make love to my wife,” he said stiffly. He stood up and turned away from her, looking into the fire.

“I don’t expect you to. Poking into your private affairs is not my interest. But this isn't a private affair anymore. It is casting a pall over my house, and Maddie seems unable to talk about it, so that leaves me to assume you’ve done something that made her very upset, and I intend to hold you accountable.”

There was a very long pause. “She said I used her.” His voice was strained.

“Out with it, Jamie, what did you _do?”_

“She had another bad dream,” he said. “Reached for me in the night. She wasn’t crying or upset that I could tell. She didn’t say at the time that she’d been dreaming. How was I to know what she wanted or didn’t want? Not as though she held up a sign saying ‘do not make love to me’.”

Esmé raised an eyebrow. “She shouldn’t have to hold up a sign. It doesn’t take much brains to infer some things. Next time she’s been dead tired and unresponsive for weeks and she suddenly reaches for you in the night, you might try _asking_ her what she actually wants instead of assuming. I’d be livid if it was me. Just ask your father.”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you going to tell me what the ruckus was about this morning?”

“Is that an order or an option?”

“An order.”

He sighed, and took his time about answering. “She finally got around to explaining that she dreamed about her mother’s death. She’s never told me what happened to her mother. She wanted to make me pay for—for using her, as she said—so she told me.”

“And what happened to her mother?”

“She died in childbirth,” he said shortly.

Esmé leant forward, going a little pale. “Oh. Oh no.”

He nodded, unhappily. “She says it wasn’t the childbirth itself that killed her mother, but I think she was just trying to get me to let go of her at that point. I wanted to shake her. I didn’t. I _was_ holding her arms too tightly, though.” He turned and looked as if he considered the interview over.

Esmé pushed him back down to his chair with a finger to his shoulder. “Listen to me, young man,” she said, with the rare expression that would have portended a birching in his younger years. “Maddie is pregnant and vulnerable and, unlike you, motherless, and she does not need you blaming her for something she could never control and cannot change. She’s been drowning in some personal hell the past few weeks, and likely felt terrible enough already _without_ having nightmares and you being an ass and raping her.”

He looked at her steady eyes, speechless for an instant. “What the devil, Mother—”

“That’s what they call it, you know, when the woman doesn’t want it.” Her voice was crisp.

“I didn’t rape her. I did not hurt her,” he insisted, looking pale and furious. “I _swear_ I didn’t hurt her.”

“Not all pain is physical, James. This is, really, an issue of trust more than anything else. We have already talked about Maddie feeling things more deeply than most people do. She can’t control her dreams, and obviously they affect her more than they might you or I. This isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last.”

“I don’t want to lose her,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“I don’t either,” Esmé said shortly. “Nobody does. But you aren’t endearing yourself to her this way, are you?”

“But if I’d known before, we could have avoided _having_ any children,” he argued.

“It takes two to make a child, James,” she countered blandly. “Maddie is a grown woman with a brain. If it didn’t concern her enough to take precautions, then that should be the end of it as far as you’re concerned. Now stop changing the subject, face up to the fact that you’ve been an idiot, and go make it up to her.”

He opened his mouth to contend with her some more, then shut it again. There was another long, uncomfortable silence. She did not take her eyes off him, and he could not look at her. He was deep in the cave of his thoughts, still not quite ready to quit sulking, but knowing that his relentless mother was right.

Finally he nodded and got off the chair again. This time she did not stop him, but squeezed his hand as she let him out. “I really don’t like scolding you, Jamie,” she said, softly.

“I deserve it this time.” He bent down and kissed her quickly and went out.

A little later he came back, looking perturbed. “Where _is_ Maddie?” he asked.

Esmé looked instantly wary. “Isn’t she still in Julie's room?”

“Well, the door is open now, but she isn’t there, nor in our room. She isn’t anywhere up there that I can see. Julie's mirror is shattered, though.”

Almost immediately everything was in uproar. Jamie couldn’t believe Maddie would just take off without telling anyone, and Esmé didn’t know how she managed to slip out _unseen_ by anyone, and set out to interrogate every person in the castle. The boys soon came in reporting that the Silent Superb was not in the garage, and upon more careful examination of their room Jamie realised with a sick feeling that her toothbrush and keys, the corduroy cat, and some of her clothes and her travelling bag were missing from their room. Wherever she had gone, she did not appear to be planning to come back that day.

He walked to the village, knowing that she’d have been noticed if she’d gone that way. He didn’t even have to enquire of anyone. The first woman he saw greeted him in the street and said, clucking reproachfully, “Why, Mr Beaufort-Stuart, your wife was out here on her bike, tearing off like a demon—” she gestured southwards. “She oughtn’t to be riding that thing in her condition, you know, and in _this_ cold! I'd be giving her a piece of my mind. She didn’t even wave to me. Right unfriendly, if you know what I mean.”

 

“She’s been seen headed south on her bike,” he told Esmé, when he got back home. “Maybe I could overtake her if I took the car—”

“You don’t know which way she’s gone,” Esmé said, practically. “She could have gone down any number of side roads. You might find her, but it would be pure luck. Maybe she’ll be back for lunch.”

“I don’t think so. She took things with her like she planned to be gone a while.”

He proved right. She wasn’t back for lunch or dinner. Jamie was pacing like a caged tiger, and Esmé with Ross cuddled up beside her stared into the fire, deep in thought.

“She’s not able to cope with idleness,” Jamie said aloud, standing still a moment, his eyes alight with sudden understanding. “I should have seen that. I _knew_ that. She seemed so happy up until just recently, though, I’d stopped thinking about it.”

Esmé and Ross looked up, and he switched to French so the inquisitive lad couldn't understand. “She _tried_ to do things here, learning to cook and whatnot, but she feels restless and it’s not enough. She needs her own space and things to manage and take care of, keep her busy. She told me that at Uncle Alfred’s, that she was a little scared of coming here, that she hates being useless and ornamental.” He looked up, his eyes smitten with remorse. “And she stuffs _everything_ that has ever hurt her until she’s so full of pain that she can’t bear it anymore. I’ve been willingly blind, acting as if everything was all right, when I should have known it wasn’t. I broke her trust the other night and shattered everything.” He dropped into his chair, his expression bleak. “And now she’s gone and I don’t know where.”   

Esmé came over and wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding him tightly. “Shh, Jamie,” she whispered. “She’s upset, no question, but she wouldn’t run away from you forever. You know she wouldn’t.”

He nodded miserably. “But what if she comes to harm out there? She’ll never make it to shelter on foot, in this cold, in the dark. I will never forgive myself if anything happens to her—or my baby.” He lost all self-control and started sobbing then, and she stroked his head softly. She was worried sick for the same reason. It had turned bitterly cold this evening. The might be ice or any number of other dangers for a lone and irrational girl in the highlands at night.

“You should go to bed, son,” Esmé said gently. “Wearing a footpath on my carpets is not going to bring her home. Would you like me to let the police know she’s missing?”

He ran his hand through his hair, distractedly. “I don’t want to,” he said, “but only because I don’t want her to feel like a hunted criminal. I do want her found, though.” He looked at her, torn, and she touched his arm.

“Go to bed, Jamie. I’ll take care of it.”

Reluctantly he nodded, and he said goodnight to his mother and the boys and went to his room, which was still a shambles from Maddie’s rampage. It was vinegar on his already raw heart to be reminded of the morning’s unpleasantness, and he set about putting things to rights, and then he went to Julie’s room to clean up the shattered mirror. He picked up the largest pieces and swept up the rest. He didn’t know what made him look into the dustpan afterwards, but he did, and his eye caught a tiny seed pearl that he recognised instantly as being from Maddie’s ring. He picked it out, carefully, and took it back with him into his room and put it in a safe place.

He keenly felt her absence when he climbed into bed. Even though he’d slept alone the last several nights, knowing she was in the next room was still comforting. He missed having her to cuddle up to, and he wondered if he could ever convince her to come back. He finally drifted to sleep, aching with loneliness, knowing full well her absence was his own fault.

He was startled awake a few hours later by a vigourous knocking on his door. “Jamie!” he heard his mother calling.

Fearing the worst, he ran to the door and opened it. “What?” he asked anxiously, but she threw her arms around him and hugged him.

“Maddie’s all right, Jamie,” she said, relief in her voice. “She’s all right. She’s with Rose.”

“She went all the way to _Edinburgh_?”

“So it seems. She said Maddie was a shaking, sobbing mess all afternoon. Rose didn’t realise we didn’t know where Maddie was, but as soon as she found out, she told Maddie either she was sending for a doctor or calling us. Maddie opted for calling us. She’s sleeping now, finally.”

“I’ll go to her,” Jamie said.

“Not tonight you aren’t,” Esmé said decisively. “In the morning. Let the poor girl sleep, Jamie. If you left now, you’d be waking her at three in the morning, and Rose has nowhere to put you.”

He sighed. He knew she was right, as usual. “Thank you,” he said, kissing her cheek as she left him. He went back to bed, but he didn’t go to sleep, and before anyone was astir the next morning, he was already making tracks for Edinburgh.

 

Maddie had arrived at Rose’s door that afternoon drenched through from the cold rain, looking like death, limping a little. Rose hurried her inside and sat Maddie down in front of the heater. “What on earth are you doing here?” she said. “What’d you do to your foot? You’re going to catch your death of cold, or pneumonia—” She took off Maddie’s coat and scarf and knelt to take off the boot from the offending foot.

“Tripped on the kerb just now,” Maddie managed to stammer through her chattering teeth. Rose satisfied herself that nothing was broken and rifled through Maddie’s bag. Everything in it was slightly damp.

“Here, you can borrow my nightgown while your clothes dry. I’ll get you a towel for your hair—” She hustled around, helping her friend get dry and getting her some hot tea, and hanging up her wet things anywhere she could fit them.

Maddie was shivering and miserable, and her hands were so cold it made Rose's own hands ache to hold them, but after about half an hour Maddie was in Rose’s warm flannel nightgown and wrapped in a blanket, with her stuffed cat in her arms and some tea inside her, starting to thaw out. Rose combed her tangled, windblown hair carefully and smoothed it down.

“Getting warmer?” she asked.

Maddie nodded.

“You look ghastly, Maddie. Whatever has happened?” Rose put her arm around Maddie’s waist and leant to look into her eyes. The eye contact made Maddie collapse against Rose, sobbing.

“Oh, Maddie, what _is_ it?”

“I want to die,” Maddie said. “But I can’t. I’m so _horribly_ miserable.” And between sobs, she poured out the entire story, beginning with the weeks of lethargy, the dream and her battle with Jamie, and finishing with the tale of her impulsive, reckless ride to Edinburgh.

“You rode your _bike_ all the way down here?” Rose asked, shocked.

“I know, I know, it was stupid. Don’t tell me,” Maddie cried, crumpling. “I’m so tired of hurting, Rose. I have so many things buried deep that nobody knows or understands, and some of them I can _never_ tell. War things—secret things. Things I've seen, things I've had to do that will haunt me until the day I die. And I feel guilty for being so angry at Jamie—he was as gentle with me as he ever is, he didn’t hurt me, but—it still felt like I was just a _thing_ to him.” She gulped down tears frantically. Rose handed her a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Rosie, you don’t need me dragging you into this, you’ve enough of your own problems.”

“No—no—” Rose contradicted. “No, Maddie. You _have_ to get these things out or they’ll eat you away from inside.” She lay down and pulled Maddie close to her, as if she were a child to be soothed. “You’re safe. You’re loved. Hush, now.”

Slowly Maddie’s sniffling subsided and she fell asleep. Rose carefully got off the bed, covered her friend, and went back to her studying.

But her mind was not on her books now. She kept looking over at Maddie, wondering what she should do with her.

 

Maddie didn’t sleep long. She sat up after about an hour and Rose smiled at her, but Maddie didn’t seem to see her. She rested her chin on her knees, staring into some deep abyss that Rose was not part of.

Rose came and sat beside Maddie again, and Maddie lay her fluffy head on Rose’s shoulder and sighed.

“Rosie, am I broken?”

“I don’t know,” Rose answered truthfully. “I don’t _think_ so, though. Why?”

“I stuff everything down inside me. I don’t want to face things. I don’t want to think about anything unpleasant. My dad was the same way. He was always so calm and pleasant on the outside, but I know my mother’s death devastated him. There were moments I got a glimpse of it, when he thought nobody was watching him. He never, _ever_ talked about her. Not to me, anyhow. I’m not very good at telling people what’s bothering me either, and it’s pulling me apart inside.” Maddie spoke haltingly, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to be like this, so dull and not caring about anything, when everyone’s been so good to me—”

“It might be the baby!” Rose said. “My mother cried about everything before Karl and Kurt were born. _Literally everything_.”

“I’m sure that doesn’t help,” Maddie agreed. She started to cry again.

“Are you really afraid you might die giving birth, Maddie?”

“I—I don’t know,” Maddie said, her tears intensifying. “I _know_ it wasn’t me that killed my mother, I really do know that, but I have been so afraid of having Jamie find out about it, because I was afraid he might go all protective and insist on things having to be done a certain way, and I don’t want that. I'm scared to death of hospitals. I will not be safe in a place if I'm scared, will I?”

“It wouldn't be the best thing, probably, if it could be avoided,” Rose answered. “But it's just a place. You could have something terrible happen anywhere, and you could have something good happen anywhere. If you have the people you love and trust with you, that's more important—don't you think?”

Maddie pondered that for a minute. “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe.” She still looked a little bit detached from reality. “But in hospital Jamie wouldn’t be allowed to stay with me. Not even Esmé.”

“You’re right on that,” Rose had to agree. She stood up and walked over to her cupboard. “I’m going to make us some supper. You need to eat something. When is Jamie expecting you back?”

Maddie didn’t answer, and when Rose turned to repeat her question, Maddie avoided meeting her eyes.

“Maddie?” Rose prompted.

Still no response, only a heavy silence.     

Rose walked over to Maddie and bent down to look into her eyes. “Maddie, Jamie _does_ know you’re here, doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t. I didn’t tell anyone. I just left.” Another gasping sob. “Maybe nine this morning. I don’t really know exactly.”

“Maddie!” Rose’s mouth dropped open. First Officer Maddie, the one who had always been so mature and responsible, seemed to have come completely unhinged. Rose reached for the doorknob. “I’m going down and calling home. They’ll be worried _sick_ about you!”

“NO!” Maddie almost screamed. “I don’t want—”

Rose shushed her gently. “All I’m going to do is tell them you’re all right. Can I do that?” She paused and decided to make the choice easier with a little bullying. “Either that or I’m sending for a doctor to come look at you, and he'll probably cart you off to hospital.”

It worked. Maddie shook her head violently and agreed to let Rose call home. “But wait until I’m asleep again,” she begged. “Please? I don’t want you to leave me right now.”

“All right,” Rose agreed slowly. “It seems cruel to Jamie, though.”

“Let him worry,” Maddie said petulantly. “Maybe he’ll come to his senses.”

Rose raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing more.

 

Rose had classes the next morning. She almost skipped them, until Maddie assured her she was not going anywhere and voluntarily handed over the key to the bike. She wouldn’t eat anything and she wouldn’t get out of bed, no matter how much Rose coaxed her.

After Rose left, Maddie spent the morning crying, wallowing in her self-reproachful rage, and sleeping uneasily in turns. She felt guilty for being so upset at Jamie when he hadn't been actually brutal, and angry because her feelings did not seem to count to him, and mostly just very, very tired of her illogical brain. She knew she wasn't rational. She just couldn’t find her way out of the maelstrom that seemed to be sucking her ever downwards.

When she heard a knock at about half-past nine, she was too dull in the head to respond at first.

“Maddie, darling,” she heard Jamie’s voice. “Please, will you let me in?”

It seemed an eternity before he heard the lock turn and the door opened about ten inches. There were no lights on, and from the shadowy hall Maddie’s face looked smudged and deathly pale in its frame of untidy raven curls, and her usually bright eyes were dull and lifeless and shut against him. She looked fragile and a bit childlike, too, one hand holding tightly to the doorframe, her corduroy cat dangling by its paw from the other, and his heart smote him anew.

He stood there a moment, hat in hand, eyes downcast, then took a deep breath. “I’ve been an idiot,” he said. “A selfish, entitled pig. I’m sorry. I know I can’t take back anything I said or did, but I _am_ sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

She didn’t answer, and he took one step toward her, his eyes pleading. “Please forgive me, Maddie.” His voice caught.

She opened the door and stood aside to let him through, closed it, and took a slightly unsteady step back towards him, and hid her face on his shoulder. He cautiously put his arms around her, and for a few minutes they just stood there together. “I did not mean to hurt you, Maddie. I hope you know I truly did not mean to. I didn’t stop to think—”

“I do know.” Her voice was quiet and tired, and there was a long silence before she went on. “I never let myself think about my mother much, not even after Gran told me what happened to her,” she whispered into his ear. “I didn’t even _care_ very much. But I understand now, a little bit, what I’ve missed out on, what with having your mother so kind and treating me like I was her own, and now I’m having a child myself, and—it hurts more thinking about it than it used to.”

“You don’t have to tell me any more,” he said softly.

“I want to,” she said. “I want to tell you that I have no intention of dying on you, but if I should, I want it to be here in your arms, in our own room. And I want to hold my baby right away. I don’t want a single moment that I have with either of you to be wasted. I don’t want you pacing the floor in some distant room like a caged cat while I am alone and in pain with strangers, in a strange place.”

“That’s reasonable enough,” he said gently, running his fingers through her hair.

“I was going to kill myself yesterday morning, after you walked out,” she went on, her voice still flat. He did not expect this, and he pulled away just enough to look at her. “I wanted to make it all stop. The endless running in circles in my head. The war memories that plague my dreams, what I could have done differently to save Julie from dying, what I could have done to stop my mother dying, how I could have made you understand what I needed, how I could make you understand how much I hated you just then. It was like a black, ugly blanket slowly suffocating me, stealing reason and everything out of my head. It all hurt so much and I was sure the only way out was to cut myself open and let all that pain run out until I found quiet.”

He managed, with difficulty, to keep his voice steady, though inside he was shaking with a sick, cold dread. “Why didn’t you?”

“I went and got that knife of yours, that one Julie took, and sat down at her vanity and I was about to do it. I was looking at my hideous red eyes and messy hair in the mirror and I hated myself. Everything Julie was that I am not hit me hard—beautiful, poised, pristine—and I punched the mirror to pieces until it made my knuckles bleed, and just sat there blubbing and desperate and frumpy and—”

“Shh,” he said, holding her tightly, as if he was afraid she would disappear, and then looked at her suddenly, startled by an unexpected poke. It wasn’t Maddie; her hands were still on his shoulders. “What was that?” he asked.

“Your baby saying hello to you,” she answered, softly.

He stepped back and laid his hands on her belly and he felt another little jab. For a moment he forgot everything else, and he started to cry, but Maddie barely waited an instant before she ploughed on, “That’s why I couldn’t do it. I sat there with that stupid knife clutched in one hand, pressing it to my wrist—and the baby kicked me, hard. I didn’t know what it was at first, but—it was as if it was saying _don’t be an idiot, mother.”_ Her voice was unsteady _. “_ And then, once I realised, I felt even worse because I’d come so close to—”

“Stop,” he said. “Please. Don’t keep wallowing in it. You can’t bear it and neither can I—alone. I’m here now and I’m not going to let you go through this alone anymore, my darling Margaret.”

He’d only ever called her Margaret once before, during their wedding, and his raw penitence and use of it now broke her open. She had thought she had no tears left, but she was wrong. She stepped back and sank down on the foot of Rose’s bed, and hid her face in her hands, and sobbed. He sat beside her and held her, listening, stroking her hair. It was different from the anguished, bitter crying he’d heard from her all week. These tears sounded like release, and relief, and cleansing.

“I don’t deserve you, Maddie,” he said when she had cried herself out. “But I love you more than life, and I swear I will never touch you again when you don’t want me to. Mother says I need to learn to let you teach me how not to be an ass.”

She squeezed his hand and sighed a little. She was too exhausted to smile, but she nodded. He kissed her cheek lightly. “I think you aren’t ready to go home quite yet. Shall I tuck you in for a wee nap?”   

That got a flicker of a smile and another nod, and when he leant down to kiss her head she looked up at him and whispered, a bit shyly, “I want to start over where we went wrong. Will you lie here with me and hold me now?”

He lit up at that and Maddie felt warmed inside to see it. He hung up his coat and hat and snuggled up behind her, hiding his face in her hair, comforted by the familiar smell and feel of it. And for the first time in days, both of them fell into a truly restful sleep.


	7. Thing Seven

**25 February 1946**

**Edinburgh**

Rose came back at two to find them there, both sound asleep. She smiled and tiptoed to the table with her books to study.

A few hours later Maddie stirred, opened her eyes a bit, and smiled to see Jamie’s face close to hers on the pillow. She felt safe and warm and at peace, and she trustingly went back to sleep.

She woke again a little later when Jamie kissed her hands. “Feeling any better?” he asked softly.

“I am, a bit,” Maddie said. “Also a bit starving.”

That was a good sign, he thought. “I’m taking you girls to dinner,” he decided. “Are your clothes dry, Maddie?”

They looked over the rather odd assortment of things Maddie had stuffed into her bag. She hadn’t been thinking very logically when she snatched things out of the wardrobe, and she burst out laughing at herself. “I can’t even run away with any sort of grace and dignity,” she said. “Look, Jamie. I managed to bring three blouses, no skirts, and a jumper that matches nothing.”

“Sounds about right,” he said, squeezing her around the waist. “But I like you anyway, even if your clothes don’t match.”

She brushed at the hopelessly muddy trousers that she’d worn on the trip down. “Oh well,” she said, stepping into them. “I’ve looked worse. Could be wearing Etienne’s jacket and those _ridiculous_ wooden clogs—”

“Shush,” he said, but he laughed with her. “You were _beautiful_ in Etienne’s jacket and wooden clogs. Irresistible, in fact.”

“And here all this time I thought you only kissed me to save face,” she said softly, looking up at him. “Maybe I should wear wooden clogs more often.”

“Good for kicking sense into cars. Or thickheaded husbands.” He kissed her lightly. “But you really _were_ the best thing I could have run into that night. You just might have gotten that kiss even if I hadn’t nearly blown your cover. You were real. You were _there._ It was all I had to hang on to just then. For all I knew, all that time between, you might have been dead. I had no way to know for sure.”

Rose kept her head studiously bent over her books, but she couldn’t help hearing, and she felt a bit voyeuristic. Who was Etienne, she wondered, and whatever _were_ they talking about? She realised again how little she really knew about Maddie, and she found herself looking up. The room seemed suddenly electric.

The two of them were locked in a mutual gaze of wordless communication. Maddie’s face was a curious blend of love and wonder and fragility. Jamie’s expression was inscrutable, but he held her face between his hands, weaving his fingers through her curls, as if by doing so he could hold her safely in his reach, keep her on this side of the brink.

“ _Ma chérie_ ,” he whispered. Then they both remembered at once that Rose was there, and the moment was broken. He dropped his hands and Maddie looked at the floor, blushed, and stepped back from him. She sat down on the bed and said she felt a bit wavery.

“Probably something to do with the fact that you haven’t eaten  anything today,” Rose said pointedly.

“Well, we’re going to fix that,” Jamie said. He helped her put her coat on while Rose got hers, and the three of them walked down the street together, with Maddie in the middle, to keep her steady.   

After they ate, Maddie felt a hundred times better. They walked with Rose back to her flat, collected Maddie’s things, and Maddie hugged her and thanked her profusely. After she went up, Jamie tucked Maddie’s hand in his arm and walked with her to where he’d parked the car. “I got us a room to stay in tonight. We can go home in the morning.”

It was a charming little guest house, and there was a little fire waiting for them in their cosy room. There was only one armchair, so Maddie snuggled into Jamie’s lap, and they watched the flickering flames in comfortable silence.

“How are you, darling?” he asked her after a while.

“ _So_ much better,” she said. “I still feel a bit like a hollow eggshell, but I think—I _hope_ —in a few days I’ll be myself again.”

“Oh, Maddie.” He hid his face in her neck a moment. “I really am horribly ashamed of myself.”

“I am too,” she said. “Let’s not ever let this happen again.” She stroked his hand softly. He really did have beautiful hands, even now—strong, graceful fingers. She imagined how fine they must have been when whole and undamaged, and lifted them to her lips and kissed the places where his fingers used to be.

He looked into her eyes. “You are astonishingly beautiful, Maddie,” he said. “You really are. I don’t _ever_ want to hear you call yourself ugly and frumpy again.”

“My mind is a cruel thing,” she sighed, resting her head against his. “Usually, I wouldn’t think anything like that. I don’t care. I am what I am. But lately—” she trailed off. “I couldn’t turn it off or pull myself out. It didn’t even start with the dream or anything, it just _happened_ , for no reason. It scared me. I’m afraid of it happening again.”

“I am here for you if it does. I will not let you drown in it.” He held her left hand lightly in his and kissed it, and she started a little and jerked her hand away, holding it closer to her face.

“One of the pearls is gone!” she said, almost whimpering, looking at him with a sort of devastation that cut him deeply. Fear, perhaps? Guilt? Was she afraid he would be cross with her?

“Shh, my love,” he whispered, folding her close to him again—not easy, because she had gone stiff with whatever dread had entered her mind. “Your pearl is safe at home. I found it when I was sweeping up the broken mirror. I’ll fix it for you when we go home, all right?”

She seemed to take a moment to register what he said. Then all the scared stiffness left her and she let herself be held. She nodded, slowly.

“Every owner of that ring has lost one of the pearls at some point,” he told her, still very quiet. “Except Julie. It may sound superstitious, but I am happy you lost it, if it means I get to have you a good long while yet. And I found it, unbelievably, so I won’t even have to go fishing for a replacement like Father had to—” he looked down at her, and saw she had fallen asleep in his arms.

 

In the morning, Maddie woke first, but she didn’t get out of bed right away. She just smiled at Jamie and stretched herself. She couldn’t lie on her stomach now, as she used to do, so she propped herself up on her side to look at him.

As if he sensed her eyes on him, he opened his own a moment later. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, somewhat sleepily, and she snuggled into his arms.

“Am I still on probation?” he asked after a minute, kissing her cheek.

“For the moment,” she said. “I’m not still angry at you, I promise. I’m—just not ready.”

He nodded. “That’s all right,” he said, so solemnly that she had to restrain a laugh in spite of herself. “I expect I probably will not die.” He held her hand to his cheek and sighed, contented for the moment just to have her close. “Are you ready to go home today, darling?”

“I think so. I feel dead ashamed, though. Don’t know how I’ll ever face your mother again, after all she did to try to help me—”

“You needn’t fret. Mother was sick with worry over you. Thank God you took your wool coat. Can’t stand the thought of you being as wet as Rose said you were in anything else.”

“I’m lucky not to have pneumonia,” she agreed, sitting up and reaching for her jumper. “I rarely get sick, though.” She pulled it over her head and then she sat still and her expression changed. “Oh, Jamie. I have one more thing to tell you, because I don’t want any more secrets—”

He looked a bit worried. “And it is?”

“My dad. How he died.” She twisted her hands together, and looked at him. “It was a motorbike crash.”

Understanding suddenly filled his eyes. “And you didn’t want to tell me _that_ because you thought I might forbid you to ride, I suppose.”

She nodded. “It was a car coming too fast around a blind corner. They ploughed into him. He—he was alive a little while afterwards. I saw him in hospital and he knew me, I think. I got to kiss him goodnight. Granddad stayed with him and Gran took me home, and an hour later he was gone. The broken bones would have healed, but there was too much internal bleeding.”

“Oh, Maddie.” He sat up beside her, pulled her into his arms, and held her close.

“The only reason I was not riding with him that day was because I was kicking up a fit about eating my turnip greens at lunch. So he left without me. I didn’t end up ever eating those greens after all, because the crash happened only a few minutes after he left, and it didn’t seem so important then.”

Jamie was silent, trying and failing to imagine a childhood without his own mother and father. Losing a brother and sister as an adult was bad enough, he thought. A parent, though? Both parents?

Suddenly, vividly, his mind called up the photograph of Maddie with her father on his bike, and he felt himself go cold all over, and an awful sort of awareness dawned in his mind. “You’d have been in front if you’d gone with him,” he said. “You’d have been the one who—”

She nodded, just once, and he held her as tightly as he could for a long time, unable to bear the idea of a world without his Maddie in it. “I wouldn’t have stopped you riding,” he said at last. “I hope you know that. Not your superior officer, remember?”

“I _think_ I knew. But I was still afraid.” She looked up. “I have been afraid of a lot of things, all my life. I’ve not admitted it to myself, really—” she stopped.

“Fly the plane, Maddie,” he whispered. “Remember you are _not flying alone._ ”

 

Their drive home was quiet but agreeable. Maddie felt that, although she still felt a bit dull and sleepy, simply not having to actively ignore her parents’ deaths brought a relief she had never imagined possible, and she resolved to herself to not hide things anymore, at least not from Jamie.

He took some back roads, to prolong the homecoming just a bit, and stopped once at a place with an absolutely breathtaking view, shafts of light slanting through the clouds like a benediction on the distant hills. Maddie was delighted with it. She ran to the edge and stood there, swaddled in her bulky layers of ill-fitting sweater and trousers she couldn’t fasten properly and a coat she soon wouldn’t be able to button closed at all, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her wild hair blowing in the wind, colour finally beginning to creep back into her face—and she was beautiful. There was a sort of quiet radiance shining from inside her that he didn’t quite understand, but he very much loved.

She was wholly absorbed in some personal reverie, and he sat on the running board of the car and watched her, his heart fairly bursting with love for her. She smiled a little, took one hand out of her pocket, and pressed it over their child.

And then she looked at him, and she stepped close and held out her hand to him. He turned it palm up and kissed it, and she stroked his bare head with the other.

“Take me home, Jamie,” she said softly. “I want to go home.”

 

They arrived back at the castle just before supper. Esmé hurried out to greet them as soon as she heard they were back, and she hugged Maddie close for a long time, as if she would never let go, and kissed both her cheeks and whispered warmly, “I’m _so_ glad you’ve come back, Maddie darling.”

“Thank you,” Maddie said, with equal warmth. “I won’t run away again.”

The boys swarmed her, too—who would have thought that two boys could seem like five?—and her heart glowed with the love they were all pouring out on her. She forgot to feel guilty and just soaked it up. Ross and Jock each took one of her hands and led her to the supper table, with Jamie and his father and Esmé following behind. Jamie took his usual place beside Maddie. The boys chattered, and things were chaotic and ordinary again all at once.

Except she was a little shy. She wasn’t sure why; she just was. Under the table Jamie held her hand while they ate, and it made her feel stronger, but she felt herself blushing profusely all the same. She wondered what the boys had been told—or guessed on their own.

 

The next morning, Esmé sought Maddie out before breakfast and they sat down together in the lady’s room.

“I am so glad you came home, Maddie,” she began, taking Maddie’s hands and squeezing them. “Really and truly, I was thinking of all the possible terrible things that could have happened out there, and I was sick.”

Maddie began to apologise, but Esmé shook her head.

“Jamie fessed up to me—with a little bit of strong-arming,” she said. “You have no need to be ashamed of anything. He was wrong, and I think he’s going to behave himself now. And I’m terribly sorry about your mother.”

Maddie looked at her hands and then back at Esmé. “Jamie didn’t tell you the worst thing, because he didn’t know about it,” she said, her voice sounding pained. “He knows now,” she added quickly, and then burst out with the tale of the attempted suicide. She didn’t know why she told Esmé; she just needed to, somehow.

“Oh, Maddie.” Esmé pulled the girl close to her and held her. There was no scolding, only a gentle sort of sadness that cut Maddie to the heart, and tears in her voice. “Please don’t try that again. Promise me?”

Maddie nodded.

After a few moments, Esmé said, “Here’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Supposing you and Jamie had a place to be independent, would that help you?”

Maddie’s eyes lit up for an instant and then she looked ashamed again. “I do like it here,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

Esmé shook her head. “Tolerating a place isn’t the same as feeling at home, darling. You need to be where you can blossom, however and wherever that is. Your happiness, and Jamie’s and the child’s happiness—and I would venture to say your life itself—might actually depend on it. I’ve lost two children, and I absolutely love having you living here, but I would far rather have you happy and safe elsewhere, than sinking under depression under my roof.” She ducked her head to look into Maddie’s eyes, and her own eyes were so kind that Maddie threw her arms around the dear lady and squeezed her.

“Thank you,” she said passionately. “You are so good to me.”   

“One more thing,” Esmé said. “Have you and Jamie—” She gave Maddie a Look, and Maddie understood perfectly well what was meant. She shook her head.

“No, I told him I wasn’t ready.”

Esmé nodded approvingly. “Good girl. Stand your ground. I’ll let you in on a little secret: Jamie’s father had to learn the same thing. I expect a lot of men do. Even the best of them can be astonishingly _dense_ at times! It will work out though, I promise. Our six children didn’t spontaneously materialise, I will tell you that much.” She winked, and Maddie laughed.

 

The entire family became devotedly solicitous, and Maddie thrived on the attention. She slowly emerged from the black hole, consciously chose to be more active and occupy herself with what was available to her. She stopped hiding in her room, went exploring outside with the boys, and spent a good deal of time in the kitchen experimenting and eating cherries.

Jamie, meantime, respectfully maintained his distance, and watched and waited patiently whilst she built herself up again into a reasonable and happy person. He was thankful that she was at least sleeping in his bed again.

One day after lunch, about two weeks after she’d come home, Maddie stole away quietly to the church where they’d been married, and she went in and sat alone in the dusky room, letting the silence fill her. She remembered vividly the way she’d felt on their wedding day, such a ball of joy and anticipation and nerves and tears. She had been sure all morning that she would be sick, while Esmé and Gran and the others fussed over her, but when she came down and saw Jamie, the butterflies were driven out by the warmth of the love she saw in his eyes when he looked at her, and instead of being sick she wanted to weep. All through the ceremony she was brimming with barely-contained tears.

She had spent a lot of time beforehand fretting about having to kiss him in front of so many people, but when the moment came she forgot all about everything but Jamie’s arms around her. He’d dipped her a bit—not _quite_ as dramatically as in France, but enough to make it very clear that his mind was on their first kiss—and he’d whispered in her ear, “Indulge me, Kittyhawk, I’m sentimental.” So she kissed him back, very quickly. Nobody else mattered anywhere in that moment, only them in their private world of memory and love.

It hadn’t been so bad, really. She worried too much, she _knew_ she did, but it seemed she never was able to stop overthinking everything that might possibly happen.

Like how all through the rest of the wedding day festivities she could think of little else besides wishing that they did not have to leave the party—wanting very much to be alone with Jamie, but scared to shivers of the more intimate side of what she knew was expected of them. Everyone was very decorous about it when they did finally leave everyone to go upstairs, but Maddie was positive she knew what they were all thinking about, and she was blushing furiously all the way up to Jamie’s room. And then, of course, they’d fallen asleep straightaway without so much as a kiss or a goodnight, and she never had been able to decide if she was disappointed or relieved. More pointless worry, really. Everything had been lovely and magical as it unfolded that day, although she hadn’t always felt the magic in the moment itself, just in looking back afterwards.

She loved Jamie more now than she had then. She really did. How she could be so sure of that, when her heart felt so still and unresponsive, she did not know, but she was sure nonetheless.

She heard the door open behind her and turned to see Jamie. He shut it softly and came and stood behind her, his hands massaging her shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind my following you,” he said.

“Mmm,” was all she said. She adored having her shoulders rubbed, and for a while she just sat there quietly enjoying it. He folded down her collar to lightly kiss the base of her neck, and she shivered and made one of the little pleased noises that he loved so much.

His hands wandered down her sides and clasped over her belly. “Thank God for your little feet,” he said in the general direction of the baby. “You saved your mum’s life, you know that? You’re destined for greatness.” He was rewarded with a little fist or foot punching at him and he laughed softly, poking back. “Precious. Precious little thing.”

She looked up at him fondly.

“What were you thinking about when I came in, Maddie-love?”

“Remembering our wedding.”

“Oh.” He came around and sat beside her, taking her hand, looking with her toward the altar where they had made their promises to one another. “I was so in love with you that day I didn’t think I could stand it, Maddie. But I love you more now. You’re bound up with me and I think that I wouldn’t be able to live without you, even if—” he stopped.

“If what?”

He looked down at their clasped hands, then back at her. “Even if it meant you never wanted to share my bed with me again. I just—I just _need_ you. When you ran away I felt like I’d been ripped in half. All these months I have been so carried away with the availability of your body and forgetting that there is more to us than just that. I feel like a heel. Because there _is_ so much more.”

“Oh, Jamie.” She sighed and leant her head on his shoulder. “I need you too.” There was another long silence and then she said quietly, “I’m afraid I’ll never care again. I want to care. I _want_ to give my body to you. I just—I feel nothing. I want to _feel_ again.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and held it there. “I want you to feel _safe_. I can’t seem to forgive myself for behaving so thoughtlessly.”

“Don’t, Jamie. It’s behind us now. I’m not perfect, either.” She squeezed the hand that held hers. “You’re my husband and we promised to stick together.”

“And you don’t take promises lightly,” he said softly. “You are a beautiful soul, my love.” He couldn’t take his eyes off hers, and he wound a curl around his finger, adoring her.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like having Julie still here?” she asked. “I do.”

“Having grown up with her, I’m quite positive it would have been Constant Mayhem and Entertainment.” He laughed. “She’d have had no qualms about jumping on our bed to wake us up in the morning.”

“Do you think she knew about us?”

“She did.”

“Did she tell you?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But she didn’t have to.” He was quiet a minute and then went on. “That one night in the cottage, plotting the route to Ormaie—I looked up at you, rapt in your airy dreams, and it just hit me that somehow, without even thinking about it or trying, I had fallen in love with you. I looked up at Julie, and she was staring at us, a bit smug, like she’d planned the whole thing, and she winked at me and nodded. She knew. She approved.”

Maddie held out her arms to him and he folded her close, holding her. The soft flutter of her eyelashes against his neck was bewitchingly seductive. He was very aware of the warm round curves of her body nestling into him—and he shifted a little bit so he could kiss her. He forced himself to be slow and deliberate, even though everything in him was crying out for instant gratification.

“How’s this?” he murmured against her lips a few minutes later, his free hand otherwise occupied under her skirt. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Don’t stop,” she breathed. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly. He could feel her pulse racing in her throat when he kissed her there; she squeaked when he nipped her neck playfully, and he felt the tenseness in her body begin to melt away.

“How do you _do_ that?” she whispered, faintly.

“Kissing is an art,” he answered, after a moment of consideration and some very gentle but persuasive wandering of hands.

“Doesn’t art require practise?”

“It does,” he said, cautiously.

“You must have left quite a trail of heartbreak behind you.”

“I most definitely did not start right out making girls swoon into helpless puddles.” He made her squeak again. “None of the others _ever_ reacted quite as delightfully as you do, anyway,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I don’t either, but it’s making me laugh.”

“I thought girls liked thinking they’re the only one, and you’re fishing for stories about my past conquests because it makes you _laugh_?”

“You’re digging yourself into a hole, Jamie! How many _were_ there, anyway?” Her eyes were bright and snapping with merriment.

“Only one successful one,” he answered diplomatically. “May I point out that you handed me the shovel?”

“I _do_ like being the only one, but I wouldn’t have loved you less if I wasn’t.” She twined her arms about his neck. “Now stop blathering about your what-ifs and past girlfriends,” she ordered, softly, “because I am ready and waiting for you to take me now, and you’re holding things up with your nonsense.”

He shut up and kissed her again, but just as he was beginning to unbutton her blouse he suddenly remembered where they were, and sighed. “We can’t do this here,” he whispered. “At least, _I_ can’t. Come on, I know places.”

He took her hand and led her to the cowshed, past the lone bewildered cow and up the ladder to the haymow. They dropped down into the soft hay and kissed deeply and desperately, frantically trying to unfasten each other’s clothing without letting go of the kiss. Maddie’s hair clung damply to her face and the cool air on her bare skin made her shiver, but she was warm inside. She all but pounced on Jamie, her hands pressing into his shoulders and curls from her bowed head brushing his skin.

“Oh. Maddie.” He pushed up into her hard and she squeezed him and he shuddered. “Oh. God. _Maddie_.” He felt completely powerless now against her soft but forceful movements against his body and he lay there, a willing captive, making incoherent sounds of rapture.

It was quick. She collapsed onto him and he rolled her to her side and they clung to each other for a long time.

“I missed you _so much_ , Maddie,” he said.

“I did too,” she said softly. “I didn’t realise how much.” She kept kissing him and he ran his hands over her. She had always been beautiful to him, but he thought she was even more so now.

For several hours they stayed in the haymow, getting thoroughly reacquainted. It was unlikely that anyone would come in, since milking the cow was Jamie’s self-appointed task, but the possibility heightened the reckless thrill for them both. They were not being particularly quiet.

When it began to get dusk, they dressed themselves, shaking off the hay as best they could, but then instead of going down the ladder they dropped back down and cuddled some more.

Jamie laughed suddenly. “I probably should not admit this to you, but when you ran off, the thought crossed my mind that perhaps you were going to Stockport, and I panicked a bit. Then I thought, no, you took your bike, not the train.”

“And why did _that_ worry you?” She peered at him closely in the dim light. “Are you—are you actually _blushing,_ Jamie?”

He coughed, a bit nervously. “Your grandfather more or less gave me to understand that if I ever did _anything_ to hurt you he would tar and feather me. Or whatever the modern equivalent is.”

“When did he say _that_?”

“Um. When I asked him for permission to marry you.”

“You never told me!”

“I know. It was a bit traumatising.”

“You’re being melodramatic, Jamie, surely! Granddad doesn’t have a mean bone in him!”

“Maybe not, but he raked me over the coals quite mercilessly all the same.”

Maddie had to digest that for a moment. “When did this happen?”

“Right after your charmingly impetuous yes note. I went to the shop and talked to him. He’d never met me. It seemed presumptuous to do it over the phone.”

“And you didn’t come see me!”

“You weren’t home, and I had to get back to base. I called when I got back to let you know what days I would have off next, though.”

Suddenly she looked enlightened. “I remember that night! So _that’s_ why Granddad was waiting up for me. I thought it seemed a bit unusual, but he gave me your message, and asked me to tell him about you, so I did. Probably sounded utterly gormless and starry-eyed. Still a bit wobbly from that goodbye kiss, I suppose. I never dreamed he’d talked to you in person. He never breathed a word. You _scamps_!”

“Sorry.” He still looked uncharacteristically shy.

“What did he say to you that was so terrible?”

He did not answer right away. “Well, he started by determining whether or not I was just an entitled upstart used to having my own way about everything, and then he wanted to know how I planned to provide for you—you know, a polite way of finding out whether I intended to idle my life away on my parents’ charity. And he asked if I knew you were Jewish and whether that mattered to my family, and he asked about my track record with girls and whether I had laid hands on you at all. I told him the straight truth, just like I told you, and that’s when he said that if I toyed with your maidenly affections, got you in trouble, or in general caused you any sort of distress, he would have no qualms about holding me Very Accountable, because you were all he had left, and he wasn’t about to have just anyone think you were free for the taking.”

“Goodness.” Maddie lay back in the hay and thought about this previously unseen side of her mild-mannered grandfather.

“I was sitting there in dread, just waiting for him to tell me to get the hell out and keep away from his granddaughter—sure that my audacity was going to get me into trouble—and then he suddenly grinned at me, held out his hand, and gave me his blessing. I almost forgot to thank him, I was so stunned.” Then he laughed. “Which reminds me. One of the things I told him was that I intended to finish university after the war was over. I didn’t want to this year, because I needed time with you and also just to get my bearings. What would you think of me going back this fall? We could have our own little place in Edinburgh. You’d have Rose nearby, too. And you could help me with my studies, my darling mechanical genius.”

“I’d _love_ it!” she said without hesitation.

 

They wandered blissfully back to the castle, not in any hurry. They might have escaped notice when they came in, if Esmé had not at that moment been steering the boys towards the dining room.

For an instant the three of them stared at Maddie and Jamie, then Esmé collected herself.

“You have hay in your hair, kids,” she said.


	8. Thing Eight

Esmé celebrated Maddie’s return by knitting her a beautiful new dark green sweater that fit her properly. Jamie was very particular about how it was to be constructed—he wanted it to show off her curves instead of hanging like the sacky jackets so many women tried to hide behind. It was a lovely sweater, and made Maddie feel so much better about herself that she wore it almost constantly.

Towards the end of May, her energy waned again. Her hips ached and she felt about as graceful as a walrus, but everyone was looking out for her now. She felt much safer, and her tiredness was undisputably related to the baby this time. Esmé was more intentional than before about spending time with Maddie, and Jamie made her come outside with him at least once a day so she could get fresh air. They were both determined to get her through this last bit of waiting without any more emotional crises.

One Thursday afternoon, Esmé went to Aberdeen on an errand that would keep her there a few days. Jamie took her to meet the train, and when he returned he went to find Maddie and get her out of the house a bit.   

He found her sound asleep on their bedroom window seat, curled up like a cat unconscious of the inherent discomfort of a strange napping place. It reminded him of something, and he went out again quickly without waking her.

When he came back in about an hour later, Maddie was awake again and sitting up.

“I've brought you something,” he said, his eyes bright. He sat beside her, and she smiled at him. It was a tired smile, but it was genuine.

“What is it?" she asked, leaning forward a bit.

He scooted close to her and unzipped his coat, and a tiny furry face popped out, and a tiny mouth mewed indignantly at being held captive. Maddie instantly forgot how tired she was and her eyes came to life as she reached for the kitten.

“Jock found it outside,” Jamie said. “He told me about it last week and I told him to find a way to catch it, so he and Ross have been out there for hours every day coaxing it out of hiding and bribing it with cream. It's barely old enough to not have its mum. I'm not sure where it came from, but here it is. Thought you might like it.” He beamed as she bent to kiss the little fuzzy head and began fussing over it.

It was a pale grey, almost white, except for the dark grey stripes on its back and a dark grey tail. She was in love instantly.

“I’ve _always_ wanted a kitten. But Granddad hates cats, and nothing could convince him to change his mind.”   

“I’ll warn you, it is still a bit wild and skittish.” He showed her his hands, grazed liberally with claw marks. “It bit Ross just today and drew blood.”

“Seems tame enough to me.” She tucked it under her chin and snuggled it. It started to purr loudly, but soon wriggled to get down. It wanted to explore, so she let it down to the floor to toddle off on its clumsy kitten legs. She watched it delightedly as it sniffed about and poked its nose into everything.

Jamie put his arm around Maddie and watched with her. “Is it a girl or boy?” she asked.

“Not sure,” he said. “I didn't think to look.”

She got up and snatched up the kitten, who squirmed in protest at being interrupted in its explorations. "I think it's a girl," she said, letting it run off again. The late afternoon sun lit up her face when she turned her head to look at him, and the lovely curve of their growing child drew him like a magnet. He came and kissed her, rubbing her belly gently.

“I’m going to Edinburgh in the morning to have a look for a place for us, if you want to come with me.”

“I’d _like_ to, but I think I would be exhausted into tears in an hour,” she said. “I guess I’ll stay and keep company with the boys. They can look after themselves if I fall asleep.”

“All right. Any instructions for me about what you want in a place?”

“Lots of windows and a roof that doesn’t leak. That’s all.”

He laughed. “You’re so easy to please. I love you.” He hugged her. “Here's another bit of news—Rose is done with her exams, and since I’m going down there anyway, she’ll come with me when I come back, to stay here for the summer. She phoned a bit ago.”

“Oh, Jamie, I _am_ sorry,” she said. “I've been up here being grumpy about everything, and you and everyone go out of their way to cheer me—”

“Hey,” he said, lightly kissing her mouth to shut her up. “That's what I'm here for. Among other things.”

He looked down at Maddie's belly, which he was still stroking, and the baby squirmed and punched his hand with a little knee or elbow.

“Still always gets me,” he said, awed. “Just—just marvellous, Maddie. Hey, little one,” he said, bending closer, “you just stay put a little longer, all right? You'll be in daddy’s arms soon enough.” Another kick.

“It loves listening to you,” Maddie said. Jamie poked back at the foot that was pressing and it retreated, and they grinned at each other.

A sound of something clattering made them both turn quickly to see the kitten on the vanity, looking down in puzzlement at Maddie’s hairbrush on the floor.

“What will you name her?” asked Jamie.

“I’m terrible with names,” she said. “I’m sure you could come up with something _much_ more clever than I could.” She turned a meaningful eye towards Kitty the corduroy cat, and they both laughed.

He scooped up the tiny creature, holding it at a safe distance from his face, and regarded it thoughtfully.

“Esméralda,” he said.

“Esméralda?” she repeated blankly. “Because of your mother?”

He laughed. “No. She’s just Esmé. Haven’t you ever read Hugo? _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_?”

“I should have guessed it would be some obscure bookish nonsense,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, Esméralda was a misplaced Gypsy girl who needed somebody to really love her. And she wore an emerald. This wee lassie has two. And they look like green murder,” he finished, letting the tiny hissing cat leap down to the floor.

 

Maddie delighted in her new companion. Esméralda seemed somehow to sense that Maddie needed gentleness. With Maddie, her inherent feistiness was tempered with far more purrs and cuddles than she gave anyone else, and although she was constantly into mischief, she was too adorable to stay angry at for long.

Maddie and the boys walked to the village to see Jamie off to Edinburgh the next morning, and then went to buy the kitten a lead and the tiniest collar they could find. Jock told her all about finding the kitten, and how Jamie had threatened to thrash them if they breathed a word to Maddie and spoiled the surprise, and Ross interrupted frequently with all the minute details Jock missed. The three of them put the collar and lead on Esméralda and were all pleasantly surprised to see it did not phase her one bit. She trotted down the street as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The boys took turns holding the lead for a while, and then Maddie decided to carry her the rest of the way. “Long walk for such tiny legs,” she said.

When she got back to the castle she was aching from the exertion, so she curled up with the likewise tired kitty on the couch in the drawing room and they fell asleep together. When she woke up, Esméralda was on the floor with the boys, romping about and chasing wads of crumpled paper they were tossing for her. She watched them happily for a while and then roused herself.

“Come on, kids,” she said. “Let’s go get Rose’s room ready, shall we?”

She scooped up the cat and they all went upstairs together, Maddie tiptoeing past Lord Craigie’s open study door to avoid being lectured by him yet again about how the maids were Employed for a Reason, and that She Should Go Sit Down, like a Proper Lady in Her Condition Ought to Do. She put Jock to work washing the windows and mirrors while she made the bed, and Ross took the sheets off the furniture and dusted, and Esméralda did her best to be a Helpful Kitten by getting under everyone’s feet and then going berserk on the newly made bed. Then cat and boys tagged after Maddie to the kitchen, where she made their supper. She had some taken up to David, but the three of them ate in the kitchen.

After the boys went to bed, it was so quiet. The only other adult in the castle was Jamie’s father, who was, as usual, deeply engrossed in whatever it was he always did off by himself, and if she hadn’t had Esméralda for company Maddie would have been very lonely indeed in the evenings.

All that weekend the kitten was her constant companion, and she hardly had time to miss Jamie at all. It slept with her at night, purring loudly, snuggled up to her shoulder, or nesting in her hair, or draped over her neck. During the day it explored, scaling the curtains and pouncing on anything that moved, and Maddie played with it and cuddled it and took naps with it. Esmé returned late Saturday night, and Maddie and the kitten were waiting to greet her when she got in.

“Jamie finally gave you the cat, I see,” Esmé said, smiling.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Maddie said. “It was getting a bit lonesome around here now the boys are in bed. Too quiet!”

“Isn’t Jamie here?” Esmé’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Where’s David?”

“Oh. He’s here, somewhere. I’ve barely seen him since you left. Jamie went house-hunting in Edinburgh. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back. Sometime Monday, I suppose.”

“Leaving you all alone? I should give him a piece of my mind,” Esmé muttered, jerking off her gloves.

“Why?” Maddie wondered.

Esmé gave her a searching look and sighed tolerantly. “You do realise, I hope, that just because the baby isn’t due for two more weeks doesn’t mean it might not decide to come sooner?”

“Oh.” Maddie looked a bit sheepish. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, darling. I’m sorry.” She squeezed Maddie’s hand and smiled encouragement. “I’m here now, so there’s no more need to fret, anyway.”

 

When Jamie and Rose arrived on Monday, Maddie was sitting in the grass with the lead around her wrist, contentedly watching Esméralda pounce on real and imaginary grasshoppers, pausing occasionally to lick a paw. She lifted her face to Jamie for a kiss, and he sat down beside her. “Find anything?” she asked, after she hugged Rose too.

“Oh, did we!” He looked very pleased. “Rose came hunting with me. Had a stroke of luck, really. We got to the last place on the list, and I liked it because it was close to Holyrood Park, but it hadn’t been very well cared for, and we’d have had to share it with a chap who wanted to split the rent. Rose didn’t like it, but I was still stuck on being so close to the park, and we stood there out front arguing about it and wondering where to go from here.”

“What was wrong with the other places?” Maddie enquired.

“Rose turned up her nose at all of them. All the best ones are already taken.”

“They were awful, Maddie. Trust me,” Rose said.

“Most of them were just so hemmed in,” Jamie elaborated. “Bad light in most of them. I wanted you to have your windows. Anyway, so there we were at the end of the list, and right across the street was the most _lovely_ place. I couldn’t quit looking at it. The owner was sweeping his steps and saw me gawping and came over and struck up a conversation. He saw my hands and asked what I’d done in the war, so I told him, and he told me about his son, who was shot down over Germany just a few days before the war ended. Turns out he’s going to America next week. The son was his only child, and his wife died about ten years ago, and the place is just too lonely for him right now. ‘I don’t suppose _you’re_ looking for a place?’ he said. And I said I was, and he suddenly brightened right up and took me in to have a look. It is _perfect_ , Maddie. I can’t wait for you to see it. Furnished and everything, and he’s letting it to us for a lot less than it’s worth. I think it's on account of his boy. You should have _seen_ the look on his face when I said I’d take it. I’ve never seen such relief and gratitude. We can move in anytime we want. I paid him a few months’ advance, and we drew up the papers and it’s all taken care of, just like that.” He held up the keys and handed one to her.

“I’m so glad.” Maddie pocketed the key and hugged him hard, beaming.

 

Having Rose there was a good diversion for Maddie, those last torturous weeks of waiting. She rallied herself for her guest, and Rose enjoyed very much seeing Maddie in her own environment, and not having one or the other of them in the midst of Perilous Emotional Distress. She seemed, to Rose, very contented and happy and hopeful overall. Rose herself was doing much better, though she did say that she still sometimes dealt with flashbacks and having a hard time in crowds.

Mrs MacDougal, the midwife, was over every week now to see Maddie, but nothing seemed to be changing. Maddie was so desperate to be finished with this that she started taking long walks—not alone, Esmé wouldn’t hear of it—and rearranging things in their room, all in a vain effort to send herself into labour. It made no difference.

“Fine,” she said out loud to the baby, poking it impatiently as she curled up to go to sleep that night. “Stay there. Stay there forever. See if I care.”

“Don’t pout, darling,” Jamie said, calmly. “It’ll happen soon enough.”

She sighed. Easy for _him_ to say, she thought.

 

**23 June 1946**

Maddie woke up long before it was light the next morning and stared into the darkness. She felt different. She didn’t quite know what it was, but something was off, and for a moment she was unsettled. She reached for Jamie’s hand, just to be sure he was there. "You all right?" he asked.

“All right,” she assured him. She snuggled her back against him and she felt his loving arm wrap over her, drawing her nearer to him. He drifted back to sleep, but she lay there a long time, wide awake, petting the cat, watching the room go from black to dusky grey and finally thin morning light, her hand still on Jamie's hand. The baby was quiet for the moment, and a band of painless squeezing came and went around her middle sometimes, and her thoughts raced.

At last she turned herself to face him, which required some effort, and smiled at the sight of his unshaven face and mussed fair hair. She kissed him, carefully.

He opened his eyes and smiled a tiny bit. “Still sleepy,” he said almost inaudibly.

“As you should be,” she said. “It’s early.”

“Why are _you_ so brighteyed, then?” he asked, closing his eyes again.

“I don’t know. Something woke me up hours ago and I can’t sleep.”

He held her lightly and kissed her and she made a funny noise. “What?”

“Tightness. I’ve felt it on and off since I woke up earlier, but it didn’t hurt. Still doesn’t hurt, but it is getting stronger. Here.” She put his hand on her belly. “Just wait a few minutes. It’ll do it again.”

They waited, and Jamie looked up startled when it happened. “That doesn’t hurt?” he asked incredulously, suddenly wide awake.

She shook her head.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Not particularly. All I really want is something to drink at the minute, but I suppose I _should_ eat something.”

“Think you can come downstairs?”

“I think so.”

He dressed himself while she put her red silk dressing gown over the ridiculous nightgown that she said made her look like a barrage balloon, and the two of them quietly went downstairs to the kitchen.

The castle was still very quiet at half-past four in the morning. Jamie scrounged some things leftover from the previous day while Maddie made a pot of tea, and they went quietly back upstairs to their room. Maddie settled into her armchair with her feet up and Esméralda in her lap, resting, waiting, eating slices of buttered toast with cherry jam as Jamie handed them to her, taking occasional sips of tea, and just being quiet.

Esméralda jumped down to go bathe herself on the hearth, and Maddie hauled herself out of the chair to walk over to the window and look out. It was a perfectly beautiful morning—a bit cloudy, but the clouds were picturesque. The wild roses climbing the wall beneath her were beautiful, and she opened the window so she could lean out and inhale their fragrance. Jamie came and stood beside her, his arm around her, watching her fondly.   

“You are incredibly lovely, Mrs B,” he said, brushing her hair out of her face. She looked so contented and happy, and she turned towards him. It was impossible to get very close to him, but they managed, somehow, to share a very lovely kiss that sent shivers down Maddie’s back and a squeeze around her middle. The baby kicked at Jamie, which broke the moment, and they both laughed.

“Settle down, little one,” he bent down to say. “We haven’t forgotten you. Just having a little last-minute romantic interlude before you come along and put a stop to such things.” Her middle tightened again under his hands and she drew a sharp breath. He looked up at her, instantly on guard.

“I felt that one,” she said. “Not bad, but it surprised me a bit.” She went back to her chair and asked him to comb her hair.

He liked this task, turning her mop of untidiness into a smooth, untangled cloud. It had grown out a good bit in the last nine months, long enough that she could tie it back or braid it. Jamie opted for the braid this morning, putting a few bobby pins in the front to keep her hair out of her face, and executing a nice tight braid and tying it up. His hidden talent for making her impossible hair look presentable had come in handy many times, and it was very relaxing to her this morning to be fussed over. He handed her the mirror and rested his chin on her head, looking at their reflection. She nodded, smiling approval.

“I’m going to go ask Rose to come sit with me,” she said suddenly, rising and making for the door.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

“I’m all right. I’ll be right back,” she said, and paused. She turned back and said, “You should go call Mrs MacDougal, Jamie.”

He nodded and went down the stairs.

She padded down the hall in her bare feet and had just barely rapped on Rose’s door when a contraction forced her to be still. She bent over, waiting until it released her, and before it had, Rose opened the door.

“Maddie!” Rose whispered. Maddie didn’t answer for a few seconds; then she straightened herself and said, “I’m all right, Rosie, but the baby’s on its way and I—” She didn’t finish, but Rose understood instantly.

“Of course,” she said, tossing her own robe on over her pyjamas and walking back down the corridor with Maddie, to whom it seemed endless. The contractions still didn’t hurt much, but they were definitely forcing her to stand perfectly still when they came, and twice on the way back to her room Maddie stopped to let them pass.

Jamie joined them in a few minutes. “Mrs M isn’t home. Her daughter says she’s at another birth and she’ll have her come as soon as she can.”

“Drat.” Maddie looked peeved for a minute, then turned to Rose. “How much do you know about birthing babies?” Maddie asked.

“Not nearly enough, I’m afraid,” Rose said.

“Mother’s right down the hall,” Jamie reminded them.

“Don’t call her yet,” Maddie said. “Later. I don’t want anyone else here just now.”

“Do you think it’s going to be fast?”

“I don’t know,” Maddie said. “I don’t know.” Her voice was distant, somehow. She watched the mantel clock ticking away the seconds. It was half-past five.

Maddie withdrew into herself more and more over the next half hour. She didn’t want to talk or move. Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, and she knelt on the floor and laid her head down on his lap, her arms hanging down limp, her eyes closed, her face flushed. Rose paced the room slowly like a guard, arms crossed, watchful and silent.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, things began to happen. Maddie’s eyes opened wide suddenly and she panicked as a good strong contraction hit her. She started to cry, a high, thin whimper of fear. Jamie dropped to his knees and caught her in his arms, kissed her forehead and whispered something to her that Rose couldn’t hear, but seeing them there like that—Maddie at her most vulnerable, Jamie powerless to do anything to stop her pain—tugged at her heart. She stopped pacing and observed Maddie intently during the next two contractions, then had an idea.

“Let me take over for a minute, Jamie,” Rose said with quiet authority. She didn’t feel confident in her skills, but for the moment, she was all they had. Jamie moved aside, but he didn’t leave.

Rose brushed away the damp stray curls clinging to Maddie’s forehead and the tears on her cheeks and asked, “Can you stand up?”

“I’ll try,” Maddie said. “I can’t move or speak or anything when—” Another pain hit her and she crumpled into Rose’s arms, sobbing again, holding her breath.

Rose thought quickly, realising that mobilising Maddie was not going to get any easier. As soon as that contraction ended, Rose led Maddie back to her chair, sat her down, and pulled Jamie’s chair as close in front of her friend as she could. Maddie panicked her way through another contraction. When it passed, Rose took Maddie’s hands tightly and leaned her head in close.

“I want you to breathe with me,” Rose said softly. “If you can breathe deeply, you can relax more, it won’t hurt as much, and it will give you something to think about besides the pain. Try it,” and she guided Maddie quickly through the routine, knowing that she didn’t have but a minute at the most before the next contraction. Maddie gulped and sniffed and nodded pathetically, but she followed Rose’s instructions, and the next few contractions did prove much more manageable, and she was able to stop crying.

Jamie watched with interest and concern as Rose talked Maddie through her pains. After a little while, Rose whispered, “Try it on your own now,” and sat back to watch. Maddie didn’t seem to notice Rose had moved; her eyes were closed, she was no longer doubling up in agony, and she was entirely focused on her breathing now.

_And she was counting._

Rose hadn’t told her to do that, it just happened. For a split second Rose panicked herself, remembering having to count the blows of her twice- _fünfundzwanzig_ , and she fought a few shallow, suffocating breaths of her own, turning her face aside sharply and gripping the arms of the chair. Flashback was cruel and inconvenient, but she was determined not to let it best her this time. She saw Jamie looking at her questioningly, but shook her head at him and forced herself to turn her attention back to Maddie.

Count fifteen breaths, the wave of pain peaked. Fifteen more, and it was gone, and everything was quiet.

Maddie stood up and walked slowly towards the bed, and just as she reached it she began drowning in another wave. She clung to the bedpost, but she did not panic this time. She could breathe now. Deep in her back was heat, radiating out from a single point—burning, withering heat. She dropped to her knees and laid her head on the floor. She was so tired, but it wouldn’t stop to let her rest. Twenty to the peak of the wave that time, and the next time, and she tried to get up off the floor, but she just couldn’t do it.

Jamie came and raised her to her knees, holding her close while the next wave swallowed her. Thirty that time.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” she said, in a thin, scared voice. “I can’t do this. Make it stop, Jamie, please, make it stop. I’m going to die.”

He was helpless to stop it, and she knew it, but she had to ask anyway.

“You _can_ do it,” he said softly in her ear. “You are not going to die. I won’t let you.” His voice was calm, but he looked up at Rose with anxious, pleading eyes. “Go get my mother,” he whispered, so quietly that Rose only just heard.

She went out as quietly as possible, then ran down the hall and knocked at Esmé’s door insistently. The lady answered it, and Rose told her quickly about the absent midwife and what was happening with Maddie.

“Go call her again, Rose,” Esmé ordered. She told her the number and without another word she was off down the hall.

 

Esmé entered the room without a sound and knelt behind Maddie, who was still clinging to Jamie with the tenacity of a barnacle, and gently laid her cool hands against Maddie’s hot face. Her words seemed to come echoing from the distant wastes of Maddie’s labour land. “Let’s take off your nightgown,” she said. “You’re burning up. You’ll feel better without it.”

Modesty forgotten, Maddie let them take it off without protest. She _was_ hot, terribly hot, and terribly thirsty, but she couldn’t say a word. There was another wave. Thirty again.

She wanted to stand up, but as soon as that contraction ended, another crashed in on her, and then another, and she gripped Jamie’s wrists with a strength he did not know she had, and she let out a howl like a cat being held over a waterfall. And then everything was silent and still and she slumped down into Jamie’s arms again, her breathing heavy.

“You’re almost done, Maddie,” Esmé said. “You can touch your baby’s face now, if you reach down—”

Maddie did, and she looked up at Jamie in stunned surprise and wonder, and then another wave slammed in.

And it was over. Maddie sat down hard on the floor. Esmé had caught the tiny human and she passed it to Maddie, who automatically took it, her expression dazed. It snuggled up to her and instinctively began rooting for milk. Maddie was shocked at the strength of the suckle of that tiny mouth and she began to sob, and went slack and collapsed.

Jamie snatched up the baby, and Esmé broke Maddie’s fall and laid a reassuring hand on Jamie’s shoulder.

“She’s all right, Jamie. Only fainted. Hard work, bringing babies into the world.” She smiled encouragingly. “See, she’s opening her eyes.”

“What—what just happened?” Maddie said, faintly. She was white as paper, and she started to shiver uncontrollably.

“You’ll be all right, darling,” Esmé promised. She helped her back into her dressing gown and then held her tightly, her voice a soothing murmur. “That was unbelievably fast for your first time. I don’t blame you a bit for being in shock.”

“I want my baby,” Maddie whispered. She could not stop shaking.

Esmé did not let go, but nodded to Jamie, and he put the baby back into her arms.

“I’m going to get Maddie something to eat now,” Esmé said, after a few minutes. “You take over, Jamie. Get acquainted with your baby, and whatever you do, _don’t let Maddie fall over_.”

Maddie propped herself up against the bed and leant heavily on Jamie. She was exhausted, and still very pale and shaky, but her eyes shone as she watched Jamie cuddling the squeaking little person and crooning nonsense to it. “Bonny wee lassie, you are. Just like your mum.” Then, with genuine delight, “Look at that, Maddie, a fine full set of toes!” Esméralda was there too, on the bed over Maddie’s shoulder, assessing this threat to her supremacy with cool feline calculation.

They looked up as Mrs MacDougal rushed in, Rose at her heels. She apologised profusely for being late and took the baby to look her over. Rose bathed and dressed her, wrapped her in a blanket, and held her while Mrs M saw to Maddie.

Esmé soon appeared with tea and milk and fresh scones and apples, which Maddie fell upon with unbelievable enthusiasm. Jamie lovingly tucked her back in bed with the baby beside her. Maddie hugged it to her as it sought greedily for more milk, and her eyes closed and her face was blissful. Jamie lay down beside her and laid a loving, protective arm over his little family, and Rose quietly shooed everyone out so the three of them could be alone for a while.

Jamie’s heart was very full as he gazed, besotted, at the perfect, round infant face and felt the grip of the tiny hand on his finger, and then at his beloved, beautiful Maddie, brave and strong and _alive_ , smiling in her sleep, and just before he too drifted off, he knew himself to be a very lucky man indeed.


	9. Thing Nine

It was early afternoon before Maddie woke up. The baby was not beside her, and she bolted upright, panicking. Then she saw Esmé standing by the window holding it, and instantly felt a bit foolish for being so quick to assume the worst.

Esmé smiled at Maddie and looked relieved as she whispered, “You’ve both been so dead asleep all this time I hated to wake you. I looked in a bit ago and saw she was awake, so I took her to my room for a bit. I just changed her, but she’s hungry, and I don’t think she’s going to be content with me much longer. Think you can come sit in your chair?”

“I think so. I need the bathroom first, though.”

Esmé continued to snuggle the whimpering, squirming child and watched Maddie closely as she moved carefully to the bathroom. She was steadier than either anticipated. In a few minutes she was back, and settled into her chair.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing,” Maddie confessed, as she took the baby in her arms.

“She does.” Esmé nodded toward the tiny person, who attached herself readily to the offered breast. “All you really need to do is remember to alternate which side you give her. Your body and she will do all the rest.”

“Do you think it’s foolish to want to feed her myself? I mean, nowadays—” she hesitated, and Esmé gave her a look Maddie had come to recognise, the almost-eyeroll that meant you were being ridiculous and about to be told so.

“Of course it’s not foolish,” she said. “Why would it be? What does it matter what other people think? I nursed all mine myself. Do what _you_ believe is right.”

Maddie was quiet a minute, bending over the helpless wee babe as if she hadn’t heard. Her hair was tumbling out of its confinement by now, and her curls brushed the baby’s head as she kissed it. So soft.

“I guess I want my baby to have all the things I didn’t get with my mother. Every possible connection with me that I can give her.”

“Perfectly reasonable.” Esmé smiled. “Really, Maddie, you worry too much about things.”

“I know.”

Maddie studied the baby’s face, stroking the downy fair fluff on her head, smiling warmly into the bright, intent, almost-black eyes that were fixed on her.

“She’s really beautiful, Maddie.”

“Does she look like your babies?” Maddie asked. “I don’t have any pictures of myself younger than two.”

“She does, a bit. Julie and Jamie both started out with hair like that, except it wasn’t curly.” She reached out and took Maddie’s hand. “Are _you_ all right? You still haven’t any colour in your face at all.”

“I think I’m all right.”

Esmé hesitated a moment over her next words, but they came out at last. “Listen, darling, I know how easily frightened you are, but I’m not going to hide my concern. I want to keep you around. You’ll probably be fine, but _do_ tell me or Jamie immediately if your bleeding is heavy, or you feel faint, or anything seems off. I don’t care _how_ much you hate hospitals, I will take you to one myself if need be.”

Maddie’s eyes flickered with shadows for a moment, but she trusted Esmé, and she nodded. “I will,” she promised.

 

Maddie came down to supper against everyone’s fearful protests. “I’m _fine_ ,” she said insistently. “I feel wonderful. I don’t want to sit idle in bed when I can be with my family.”

Esmé had sent Jock out to pick strawberries, and he and Jamie made ice cream with them. Rose had made chicken pie and cabbage salad, and they all sat around the table, feeling festive and merry. The baby’s name was the topic of very animated discussion throughout the meal, and everyone had ideas.

Julia was a given; they had always known that they would name their first girl after Julie, but they hadn’t given much thought to what other names they might use. Jamie first said they should call her Julia Çerise, because surely she was at least _half_ made of cherries, if Maddie’s cravings were any indicator, but everyone objected to that. Maddie wanted to use Brodatt, because she knew Granddad would like it, but decidedly not Margaret, because she thought it was dead self-centred to name her baby after her best friend _and_ herself. Esmé and David each had about two dozen ideas of other family names they could use, Ross and Jock deliberately suggested the most outlandish names they could think of, and Rose listened in quiet amusement, saying nothing.

Then Jamie spoke up again. “You all didn’t like Çerise, which is all right, since I was mostly joking, but this time I am quite serious, so I want you to hear me out.”

Everyone looked at him attentively, and he went on. “Maddie opened the window this morning and all through everything I kept smelling those delicious roses that climb up the wall, and I don’t think I’m ever going to look at this little girl without associating her with that lovely scent. _And_ ,” he went on before anyone could interrupt, “when the pains started to get bad and Maddie was beside herself, Rose stepped in and helped her to calm down so she could get through it without being afraid. I say we name the baby Julia Rose. What do you say, Maddie?”

“I like it,” she said, and before anyone could object again, Jamie banged the table with his spoon once and said, “Meeting adjourned. Here, Maddie, let me have my child a bit so you can eat. You’ve hardly touched your food and you look like a wee ghostie.”

“And _some_ of us are waiting for ice cream,” Ross pointed out impertinently. Esmé shushed him.

Jamie took little Julie in his arms and kissed her wee head and smiled at her with immense pride and love. Maddie’s heart felt so warm and melty at the sight of them that she leaned close and kissed his cheek.

He still hadn’t shaved.

He caught a glimpse of her soft, distracted eyes dreamily watching him. “Eat,” he ordered. But he said it with a wink and a smile, and she turned to her plate and did as she was told.

 

After they had all polished off the ice cream and strawberries and even Ross declared he couldn’t eat any more, Maddie and Jamie decided to go back upstairs. On the way, they stopped by the ’phone, and Maddie called her grandparents with the news. Gran was elated.

“And you’re well, Maddie? You’re really all right?”

“I really am, Gran. I promise.”

Jamie leant in and added, “She’s _fine_. Perfect. And the baby is too. Very perfect. Say something to Gran, baby girl.”

Baby Julia let out an obliging squeak or two and yawned.

“Taking them to bed now,” he said.

“Goodnight, Gran,” Maddie said.

“Goodnight, dear. I love you.”

 

Maddie fussed over the baby’s diaper for a long time. Changing babies was another completely new thing to her, and surprisingly more difficult than she had anticipated. Julie screamed in protest at having it taken off. “Maybe it makes her cold,” Maddie thought. Once she’d finally managed to get a fresh one on successfully, Julie soon quieted.

Maddie and Jamie soon sat snuggled up beside each other on their bed in the cosy glow of the little bedside lamp. “It seems unreal,” Maddie said softly, “that we _made_ this. Just look how perfect she is.”

“She is,” he agreed, stroking her head with the backs of his fingers.

The baby stretched and made faces, and Maddie opened her robe to feed her. Jamie watched appreciatively, and Baby Julie’s eyes grew heavy and she was soon asleep, but Maddie did not move to put her to bed.

“Do you mind that it’s not a boy?” she asked, a little timidly.

He didn’t hesitate for an instant. “Why on earth would I mind? Seriously, Maddie, there are _enough_ Beaufort-Stuart lads already. High time for some more lassies around here.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” she said. “I didn’t _think_ you cared, but I know some men do.”

“You could give me ten daughters and I would be perfectly happy, my love. Stop fretting. You’re ridiculous.” He kissed her cheek and took the swaddled infant from her arms. He lay Julie in her own little bed, pushed up close to the bedside so Maddie could reach her without having to get up in the night, and then he and Maddie held each other close a long time. She gently stroked his face, looking at him fondly, and kissed him.

“I actually rather like it,” she said, unexpectedly.

“Like what?”

“This.” She ran the backs of her fingers down his day’s worth of beard.

“Are you _quite_ all right, Maddie?”

“I am! You should grow it out. Seriously, I think it makes you look quite… distinguished.”

He burst out laughing for a solid minute. “I’m not even thirty yet, Maddie. Maybe ask me again when I’m fifty.”

“I like the way it feels,” she insisted.

He made a skeptical noise. “Well, I’m getting rid of it in the morning, so enjoy it now.”

“I am very much enjoying it now.” She kissed him again and tipped her head back so he could kiss her neck. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “Tickles a bit.” She sighed contentedly.

“You seem awfully frisky for someone who just had a baby,” he pointed out.

It was her turn to laugh. “I was instructed rather insistently by Mrs M that I’m not supposed to even _think_ about sex for a good six weeks, and to tell you to mind yourself. I’m not after _that_. I just want you to kiss me.”

“I am very willing to indulge you,” and for a minute nothing else existed but the warmth of his mouth on hers.

When he let go, she was still gazing somewhat gormlessly at him. He smiled faintly and went quiet, fixing his gaze thoughtfully on the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.

He didn’t answer right away. “Somehow I suspect,” he said at last, “that if all men had to stay in the room while their wives gave birth, they _might_ look at sex a bit less casually.” He was dead serious, and Maddie looked at him in some surprise. “I mean, I fully intend to go on making love to you until the day I die, but I just see it as a little more sacred now, I guess. I don’t like the idea of you going through hell, to pay for a bit of fun.” He looked over at her. “Was it as bad as it looked, Maddie? I was absolutely terrified, just watching.”

“It—it all just happened so _fast_ ,” she said, slowly, trying to think how to describe it. “I’m still shaking inside. It _was_ frightening, and intense, and also oddly magical. But I don’t remember quite what it _felt_ like.”

“Really?” He looked surprised.

“It sounds strange, I know! But it was a bit like… like being outside of myself, and only coming back in after it was all over. I’m not particularly keen to rush to do it again or anything, but I would like to have another, sometime. I really don’t want Julie to grow up alone like I had to.”

She lifted his hands to kiss them and stopped, staring in surprise at the bruises coming out on his wrists. “Did _I_ do that?” she asked in horror.

He shrugged. “I can take it. Small price to pay, next to your efforts.” He stroked her hair gently. “You really should get some sleep, Maddie-love.”

“I know. I’m just _so happy_. Feel a bit high, actually.”

He smiled. “I can tell. It’s beautiful. Except—”

She narrowed her eyes a bit. “Except?”

“Except I think you’re delusional about the beard.”

 

Maddie stayed high for a couple of days. She slept lightly or not at all, and she was contagiously radiant and utterly in love with her baby.

The day Gran arrived was the day the first rush of elation came crashing down. When Jamie left to go meet Gran at the station, Maddie very suddenly realised how sore and tired she actually was, and though she wasn’t _really_ alone, she felt unfairly deserted when he walked out the door, and within moments had settled down to a good  loud howl.  

Esmé came hurrying in, quickly determined that no lives were actually in peril, and took Julie downstairs for a while so Maddie could sleep. And she did sleep hard, for a solid two hours. When she woke up, things weren’t quite so bleak, and Jamie was home, and Gran was there. Her milk came in that evening with a vengeance, to the delight of the perpetually hungry baby and the slight consternation of Maddie, who kept having to swap out the milk-soaked rags she stuffed down her front. It just never seemed to let up once it started, and it took almost nothing to start it. Julie’s infant noises, the row of baby pictures of Esmé’s children on the drawing room mantel, the sound of running water, kisses from Jamie, Esméralda’s purring.

“My body apparently missed the memo that Julie is not triplets,” she grumbled to herself.

Rose made Maddie a comfortable nest in one of the big chairs in the drawing room, so she could come down with the family sometimes and still be able to rest. The boys were a bit in awe of the baby at first, then got used to her and stepped into their roles as her uncles with admirable enthusiasm.

Esméralda also decided she approved of the baby, and would curl up next to her in her bed, to Gran’s particular consternation. But the kitten seemed to have appointed herself Guardian of the Baby, and she was not to be deterred from her post. Maddie defended Esméralda rather heatedly, and finally even Gran gave up on trying to convince her to Remove the Cat.

 

Now that the baby had arrived and life had mostly settled into its new routine, Esmé got down to the business of mothering Rose. At first Rose had been a little intimidated by her—a real live British countess!—but it did not take long for her to realise that she was a particularly rare and very approachable human being.

So when one day Esmé invited Rose to have tea with her in her room, Rose said she would be glad to join her.

Esmé’s room was tastefully decorated with the same understated elegance that defined everything she did. Rose thought the most bold and striking feature of the room was the long, low bookshelf on which were a parade of framed photographs, all in a row. She saw Rose looking at them and said simply, “Those are my children.” She started at one end and introduced them all.

“Davie is the eldest, the one who died in Normandy. The scarf I have it sitting on was my last Christmas gift to him. His wife Janet lives with her family near Oxford. She doesn’t write to me; she was very young, and her heart broke when he died. I really don’t blame her for going a little mad over it. They had a baby, born after he died, but I’ve never seen a photograph, though I did ask for one once.” She sighed. “And this is Sandy and his wife Mary and their boy, and Archie, and Grant. Then Jamie and Maddie of course, and Ross and Jock, and my Julia.”

Just as Davie’s photograph was nested in its navy silk scarf, Julie’s was draped with a piece of knitted lace in autumnal orange-red wool. Esmé touched it reverently and seemed hesitant to comment on it, but at last she said, softly, “She was wearing a jumper of this wool when she was—when she died. I made the lace out of the leftover wool, later.”

“I’m so sorry,” Rose said, and impulsively put her arm around the lady’s shoulders. There was a long silence.

“Sometimes I wish I could tell everyone what happened to her. I’m not _supposed_ to know myself, and sometimes it hurts _so much_ to have to hold it in. My brave, brave girl.” Her voice caught. “She was so _little_ . Well, not to me, I’m barely taller than she was, but I know perfectly well what it’s like to have most everyone bigger than you are. But she made up for it in spunk, and an imagination big enough to get her out of— _almost_ anything.”

Rose looked down at Esmé, who was indeed a very dainty thing, especially standing beside her. Not as small as Róża, but almost. She gave Esmé’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, and listened as the lady went on.

“The last time I saw her was a brief visit home before she went to train for what ended up being her final assignment. That’s when her nurse made her the pullover.” Esmé’s voice was steady, but her hands, still on the lace, trembled a little, and her eyes burned as she looked up at Rose. “If I had known—if I had had _any idea_ —what kind of jobs they were giving her to do—well, I doubt I could have stopped her doing it, but I would certainly have tried.”

Rose thought again of what strong stuff Esmé must be made of to cope so gracefully. Or maybe she was like Lisette, who clung to the little things that brought joy and stability instead of dwelling on her losses.

“But now I have Maddie,” Esmé went on quickly, nodding to the portrait of Maddie beside Jamie’s. “And I _love_ Maddie. Completely different from my strange and wonderful daughter, of course, but she balances Jamie out _so_ perfectly. Here, sit with me.”

“I wish I could get to know Maddie better,” Rose said abruptly, settling into the indicated chair.

Esmé laughed as she poured out the tea. “I think we all wish that.”

“Really? Even Jamie?”

Esmé laughed again. “Marriage does not ensure perfect knowledge of another person, ever,” she remarked drily. “I have been married to my husband for forty years this year and I think we are still as baffled about each other as we were to start with, only over different things. People aren’t static. They grow and change, and if you don’t stay together, you’ll lose touch, and even if you _don’t_ lose touch, you will still find your spouse surprising you. I learned just last week that when David was fifteen he wanted nothing more than to run away to South America and play the xylophone in a dance band. He never told me because he thought I would laugh at him, but I got it out of him after his brother referred to it in a letter. He was right, I did laugh at him. I’ve already sent for a xylophone for his birthday. I expect he will pretend to be very put out at me.”

Rose giggled. She couldn’t picture Lord Craigie as anything so bohemian as that.

“But, back to Maddie,” Esmé said. “Julia once described Maddie as a ‘bright and vulnerable soul’, and it is such a _perfect_ phrase. Maddie has a plethora of fears and baggage, but she is very selective about when and with whom she shares them. Julie was everything to her, and I think out of all of us, Maddie took her death the hardest. Julia really understood her. They both seemed to be able to be really themselves with each other in a way few people ever can be. I never even saw them together, but I could still tell. Jamie is much like Julia—I think that’s one reason why he and Maddie hit it off so well. She came visiting here a few times, and I thought almost right away that here was a girl I actually really liked the idea of him spending time with. She was about the most innocent creature I ever saw, mind. I figured that out with no trouble. Not stupid, just obviously inexperienced and very clearly expecting nothing out of her friendship with Jamie except just that. She would have been a very easy target for a man with no scruples, blind to the warning signs. She’d have shut down, too scared to fight, if someone tried to take advantage of her. Jamie was generally a terrible flirt with girls, but from the start there was none of that with Maddie, which of course intrigued me. They hadn’t fallen in love yet, but there was something there already. Friendship. Mutual obsession with mechanical things. He was _teasing_ her, as if she was his sister. He didn't usually tease girls if he had plans to lure them out in the moonlight for stolen kisses, so I knew his interest in her was beyond a pretty face. Though even his teasing was gentler than what he’d have given Julia.”

Rose buttered her scone. “Protective?”

“Exactly. My children are _merciless_ teases to each other, and they rather thrive on it amongst themselves, but heaven help any outsider who picks on one of them. The others will quickly jump in to defend the one in trouble. Maddie was one of us long before she ever realised it, and he would have fought to the death for her if needed. I know he took on at least one fellow who was behaving badly towards Maddie. And of course nobody wants to get into my bad graces, either. Nobody causes grief for my children and gets away with it.”

“Maddie seems to be doing much better now, compared to the last time I saw her,” Rose said.

“Yes,” Esmé agreed strongly. “She seems to feel safer since she came back, and now we are more aware of her warning signs, we can do better helping her.”

“It scared me,” Rose admitted. “When she came to Edinburgh, I mean. I’ve seen so much, but having always looked up to her as the mature and collected adult in my ATA pool, it was just _awful_ to see her so scared and raw and beaten.”

Esmé nodded. “Me too. I’d had no idea how deep-seated her fears were. If I had, I might have been quicker to act. I _was_ sorely tempted to give Jamie a thrashing when I found out what it was all about, but I am no match for him anymore.” She laughed. “Despite being the runt of my litter, he’s turned out to be rather strong. Sheer obstinacy, probably. I suspect he likes shocking people who think he’ll be easy bait. He had plenty of teasing at school, and I think losing his fingers and toes also made him all the more stubbornly determined to acquire some muscle.”

“He lost his _toes_?”

“Yes. All of them. He’s a bit vain and doesn’t let people see his feet, though. Except for his immediate family, a lot of people don’t actually know about it. He worked like the dickens to re-learn how to walk so nobody would guess. I must say, he’s done a rather good job of it. Even without his shoes on, he’s quite graceful now.”

Rose sipped her tea quietly. She thought unexpectedly of Nick, and without even meaning to, she suddenly found herself telling Esmé all about him.

Esmé listened thoughtfully, and when Rose finished, she set down her cup and took her hands. “You deserve better than that, my dear.”

“I know—in my head, I _know_ we were all wrong for each other—”

“But you miss him.”

She nodded, miserable. “He made me feel so special. Sometimes— _all_ the time—I am just _so lonely._ I feel like I understand why girls go out and—” she stopped, suddenly, remembering who she was talking to.

“Go out and sleep around? It’s all right to speak plainly, Rose, very little shocks me.”

Rose looked up in surprise. “Yes. I don’t want to throw myself away on someone I don’t really care about, but I also want so much to not feel so desperate all the time for just any old thing to ease the solitude. If I could only have my camp family back again. Just to have _company_ , you know? I’ve considered looking for a roommate, but I’m so scared of meeting new people that I never get anywhere with it. I am always so sure they will see the wild and filthy prisoner still looking out of my eyes, and I wouldn’t have to explain _anything_ to my camp family.”

Esmé had not let go of Rose’s hands, and she squeezed them now. “If there is _ever_ anything I can do, Rose, ask me. I really mean that.”

“Thank you, Lady Craigie,” Rose whispered.

“You can call me Esmé,” Esmé said casually. “Tell me about your camp family.”

So Rose did.

 _A tigress_ , Rose thought as she went to her own room later. _Esmé is a tigress._ Under the dainty, proper exterior, she was a Force to be Reckoned With, especially when her children were on the line. If only Róża were here. Róża would _adore_ Esmé.

 

Rose left the first of August to spend a couple of weeks with her aunt and uncle before returning to university. It was time for Jamie and Maddie to be getting ready to move as well. Gran packed everything for them, and on their anniversary suggested that she and Esmé look after the baby for a night so Maddie and Jamie could have a little time alone before being completely turned out on their own.

Maddie was hesitant to surrender her baby, but Jamie finally convinced her to agree to the plan. So Maddie nursed her and swaddled her and kissed her about a dozen times, and he went to see his child safely ensconced in her grandmother’s embrace and bring back their dinner, leaving Maddie to finish taking a long leisurely bath. Afterwards, as she pawed through her drawer looking for anything interesting to put on besides the barrage balloon nightgown, she saw the red lace nightie, carefully rolled into the furthest corner, and on a whim she took it up, shook it out, blushed, started to put it back, then paused. She’d only tried it on once before, when Jamie had been nowhere around, and he had never seen it, on her or off. She had felt so appalled at the sight of herself in such a frivolously whoreish-looking thing that she had immediately taken it off and never given another thought to it until just now.

She wondered if she could still squeeze into it. Biting her lower lip, she decided that if she could, just this once she would wear it for him. She did so like the look on his face whenever she wore something particularly alluring, even if she did hate Being Dolled Up.

So she went into the bathroom and put it on, quickly hiding it under the dressing gown. She _did_ love that dressing gown. It was so soft and comforting and made her feel royal, not to mention Less Exposed. And she combed her hair—the weight of it as it grew longer kept it from being _quite_ so unruly as when it had been short—and tied it back with a ribbon.

And then she sat down in her chair to wait, with Esméralda for company.

Jamie bent and kissed her when he came in. “Room service, my lady,” he said dramatically as he deposited the tray on the table and fetched their cups and saucers from the mantelpiece. “You look lovely as always, darling,” he said.

Maddie sat comfortably, very much enjoying watching him. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up above his elbows. The tip of the sword on his tattoo just showed, and something tingled warmly inside her at the sight of his bare arms.

It was so quiet in the room. Julie was not a particularly noisy child except when she was hungry (which, Jamie maintained, was most of the time), but still her absence was very noticeable. Maddie squashed her guilty feeling of neglecting her child, remembering that Esmé and Gran very capable and Julie would come to no harm under their watch.

They enjoyed their supper. Jamie moved his chair beside Maddie’s so he could hold her hand while they ate, and just being side by side enjoying the food and firelight together alone was unspeakably joyous.

“This is the first anniversary we’ve actually spent together,” Maddie said. “Two years already.”

“So it is.” He smiled at her. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Maddie.”

She smiled back, a bit shyly. “I’m glad you think so.”

“And beautiful.” He kissed her cheek. “I got you something.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve watched you tear through three pairs of shoes since we’ve been here and I kept telling Mother it was futile to keep getting you that kind, but she has it in her head that they are the best shoes for you—well, I decided it was time to put a stop to it. Shut your eyes!”

She squeezed them closed obediently and waited. A moment later he knelt down and set something on the floor.

“You can look now,” he said.

She squealed and clapped her hands, to the disapproval of Esméralda, who leapt to the floor and glared at her mistress. It was a pair of steel-toed boots.

“You are possibly the only girl I will ever meet who could get _that_ excited about a pair of boots. Julie would have reserved that sort of enthusiasm for shiny pieces of rock to hang on her ears, say.”

She grinned. “How dull. You are probably the only man who will ever understand me so well. Put them on for me?”

He complied gladly. “They are so perfect for you,” he said. “I never knew a woman who could be so attractive with so little fuss.” He gazed up into her eyes with transparent infatuation.

Her eyes glowed. “I have something for you, too, but you have to take the wrapping off,” and she knelt down before him and used his hands to open her dressing gown and let it slide down off her shoulders to the floor, giving him a nice view of her lacy nightie. He goggled speechlessly. It was _very_ gratifying.

“Where on earth did _that_ come from?” he asked, finally finding a voice.

She laughed, self-consciously. “It goes with the dressing gown. I was dead embarrassed about it and I’ve had it buried in my drawer all this time. Hoping it would disappear, I guess. It’s a bit more snug than it was,” she said, looking down at it critically.

“In all the right places, though,” he said appreciatively. His voice had gone soft. “Please, _please_ tell me this is an invitation to make mad love to you, because I—”

She answered him with a kiss that would have made her intentions crystal clear to a blind man.

“I _am_ afraid of hurting you,” he whispered, when she came up for air. “Are you sure it’s all right?”

“You won’t hurt me,” she whispered back. “And the bleeding stopped a week ago.”

He was careful, despite her protests that she wasn't going to break. They fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms and very, very happy.

Maddie woke a few hours later with a sharp, involuntary sound of pain as she turned onto her side, and in the darkness near her ear she heard Jamie’s sleepy voice. “What’s wrong, love?”

She laid his hand on her swollen, hard, aching breasts and he made a noise that was both sympathetic and impressed. “I need Julie to come relieve me or I am going to explode,” she muttered.

“Let me help.” Almost before she knew what was happening Jamie had slid the shoulder strap of her nightie down, his lips closing over one nipple. It was unexpectedly erotic, and she felt his hand on the other breast just as the tingling rush of milk started. It was bliss, that release. It always was, but a nursing baby suckling is completely a different sensation from one’s husband doing it, especially a husband whose mouth was as seductive as Jamie’s.

“It’s sweet,” he whispered after a moment. “Just like you.” He kissed her mouth, and she tasted the milk on his lips and felt she needed him very, very much, and she went after him with unusually raw ferocity.

He loved when she let go of all inhibitions like this. It didn’t happen very often, and he reciprocated in kind—still being careful not to play _too_ rough, of course. She was relentless. He didn’t care that she was soaking him and the bedsheets with milky rivulets. He suckled her until the pressure was gone, and then he rolled her over and took her again.

She cried out, delighted, and one fist slammed into the headboard. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing her close. The pressure was gone and she felt so much better.

“Maddie,” he said, hushed, awed. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” she corrected. “Oh, I needed that.”

 

Jamie and Maddie sat together on a bench waiting for the train he’d be taking to Edinburgh. He had lifted Julie out of her pram and was snuggling her close. “You be good to your mum, all right? I wish I didn’t have to wait a whole week to see you again. I think I might even miss your midnight concerts.” He crooned more nonsense to her in French, as he was very fond of doing, until the train pulled in.

“ _Au revoir, ma petite çerise_ ,” he said, kissing her once more before he relinquished her to Maddie. “I love you, darling,” he said, kissing her too.

She smiled. “It won’t be for long!” She squeezed his hand and watched while their trunks were loaded and waved until the train was out of sight.

She took her time about walking home, and when she got there she saw Gran and Esmé sitting in the garden enjoying the sunshine. They waved to her to join them.

“You look a bit blue,” Esmé was quick to say, and she gave Maddie the familiar searching squint.

Maddie nodded.

“What is it now?”

“I just—just irrational fears,” Maddie said, trying to shrug it off.

“Such as?”

Of _course_ Esmé wouldn't let her off easily, Maddie thought with a sigh. So she elaborated. “What if that was the last time I ever see him alive? What if there’s a railway smashup? What if he just disappears?”

Esmé just squeezed her hand and said softly, “He will be fine. And so will you.”

She was right, of course. Jamie telephoned as soon as he arrived at the house. He said he would arrange for a cab to be there when they arrived Friday because he was going to be tied up with Things until about five.

Esmé was very reluctant to part with her beautiful granddaughter when the day came. “By Christmas, you’ll be so _big_ ,” she said sadly.

Maddie and Gran and Julie arrived in Edinburgh about noon on Friday. As promised, there was a cab waiting for them.

Maddie’s mouth dropped open in delight when she saw her new home, and she let themselves in and immediately was in love.

The first thing she did was run to the back to look at the garden and see to it that her beloved bike was safe. Then she inspected the kitchen cupboards and icebox to see if Jamie had been eating anything sensible while he’d been alone (he appeared to have been living on nothing but bread and cheese). She went to let Esméralda out of her travelling basket, and then she saw the castle in the corner.

Maddie laughed so hard she sat straight down on the floor. Jamie had constructed a cat-sized castle of boxes in the corner, with diamond-latticed windows painstakingly cut out on the top floor on either side of a Gothic door that led to a patio fitted with a rectangular scrap of carpet perfect for kitten claws to dig into. There was a paper saltire flying from the pointed roof, shingled—actually _shingled_ —with squares of cardboard. The ground floor had another Gothic door, with double doors on leather lace hinges that could be barred shut, and a window for Esméralda to look out of, and on the corner was a pub-style sign with the words _Kitty Castle, Castle Kitty_. Maddie giggled in delight as she peeked inside and saw that he’d literally made the cat a bed, and was pleased as could be when Esméralda, released from her basket dungeon, went straight into the box castle to hide until she decided she was ready to explore her new domain.

“Look, Gran, he even put on drain spouts,” she said merrily. Of _course_ Jamie wouldn’t forget the drain spouts.

Gran admired the castle with a bit less exuberance than Maddie, and then they went upstairs and looked at the bedrooms. Jamie had chosen the front one for them, because it had the big window, and he had done a very nice job of arranging all their things. The other bedroom was under dust sheets. She suspected it was probably the dead boy’s room and hadn’t been touched since he died, and she did not linger there.

“This is lovely, Maddie,” Gran said approvingly.

“Isn’t it?” Maddie was radiant. “Let’s go shopping and have a proper meal waiting for Jamie tonight!”

“You go,” said Gran. “Julie’s looking sleepy. She can nap here while you’re out. I think Jamie would prefer coming home to a well-rested baby than a grouchy one.”

“All right,” Maddie agreed. She sat down to nurse Julie, changed her, and Gran took her and rocked the sleepy child while Maddie slipped quietly out.

It was a pleasant day, and not too long of a walk to the grocer.  She felt unusually self-confident, considering the unfamiliar surroundings, and she knew her clothes looked smart and snappy—letting Esmé decide those details was always her safest bet.

She was back in plenty of time and set about boiling her chicken pieces to turn into soup, and chopped up her vegetables, and made muffins while the soup simmered, humming softly to herself, longing for Jamie to get home. Esméralda wreathed herself around Maddie’s legs, watchful for any stray chicken bits that might drop her way. Gran came in and set the table, and at five, Jamie came in.

She heard the door open and ran out to meet him before he had a chance to say a word. He spun her round and kissed her, and she was too happy and dizzy to form any coherent sentences for a while.

“It smells like heaven in here,” he said, looking pleased. “I was getting dreadfully tired of bread and cheese.”

“Helpless man,” she teased. “You know how to cook.”

“I _can_ cook. Doesn’t mean I _love_ to. Besides, I was busy.”

“So I saw.” She looked over at the castle.

He grinned. “Like it?”

“I _adore_ it. Esméralda went straight in.”

He kissed her again, and then he said softly, “I can’t decide if I want dinner first or to lure you upstairs first. Mm, your hair is amazing.” He buried his face in it for a minute, then lifted it away from her neck to kiss her.

“You’d have easier access if I chopped it off again,” she pointed out.

“I don’t want easier access. I want to keep all the other men in the world from lusting after your neck.”

“Goose,” she said fondly. “I rather doubt that all the other men in the world have your weakness for ladies’ necks.”

“You might be right,” he said agreeably, “except that I only have a weakness for _your_ neck, thank you.”

She giggled. “Well, I can tell you the luring upstairs will have to wait, because—”

“Don’t tell me,” he said, putting on an exaggerated air of martyrdom as he imitated her, right down to her accent. “‘Because I am starving, Mr Beaufort-Stuart, and if you go upstairs now you will be up there All By Yourself.’”


	10. Thing Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recording of [The Keys of Heaven](https://youtu.be/-idbAwoEBMc?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE).

**Edinburgh, 1946**

Maddie and Rose did not see as much of each other as they would have liked between September and Christmas. They celebrated their birthdays together on a Sunday in between, and Rose was homesick for a good American Thanksgiving dinner, so she commandeered Maddie’s kitchen to make that happen. It was a _lovely_ day, until Rose started sobbing for her home and her families—her real family and her camp one—and Maddie insisted she spend the night there, so she didn’t have to be alone in her tiny room while she was so sad.

But for the most part, Rose was too busy studying to have much of a social life, even if she wanted one, which she wasn’t sure she did. She wanted to try to get evening work, but she told Maddie she was scared of trying. Studying was easy to do, in comparison to interacting with unpredictable strangers.

Jamie, like Rose, was gone most of the day. He had his classes plus an hour or so of study at the library where it was quiet before coming home in the afternoon.

But despite the general solitude, Maddie had the baby and the cat for company, and no time to mope or be idle. One of the first things she did was hang up the little shelf she’d brought from the castle, the one Jock had made for her in a burst of woodworking zeal last Christmas. She kept things on it that reminded her of Julie—copies of _La Silence de la Mer_ and _Put out the Light_ , Julie’s tattered copy of _Kidnapped_ , the photograph of her and Julie with their cocoa in Stockport, a candle burnt down to a stub, and a few dried damask rosebuds she’d gathered from the castle gardens.

Then Maddie cleaned the house top to bottom with a thoroughness it has not seen in years. She aired the dead boy’s room, got rid of the dust sheets, and packed most of his things into boxes to put in the shed out back. She hung up blue and white curtains in all the windows and gave the back garden a good going over, planting bulbs and trimming the hedges and rosebushes. She explored the city with Julie in tow, and sometimes met Jamie at the library in the afternoon so they could walk home together. It was lovely to truly be mistress of her own domain at last, and she and Jamie were very, very happy.

Maddie rejoiced with Rose when Lisette’s letter arrived, and she saw her off on her way to Nuremberg in December, with promises to see each other at Craig Castle the next week.

 

  
**17 December 1946**

 **Craig Castle**

Maddie slung the straps of her bag over her shoulder, hugged her well-bundled baby close to her chest, and stepped off the train.

There was a light snow beginning to fall, adding to what was already blanketing the ground. Maddie walked quickly, breathing deeply of the crisp grey winter air, glad she was properly dressed for it, grinning because she could already hear Esmé scolding her for walking all the way from the station with a baby and a bag in this cold.

She let herself in at the front door, dropped her bag, and set Julie on the floor while she took off her snowy wraps and boots.

In a moment Esmé appeared and gave Maddie a big welcoming hug. “You ridiculous girl,” she scolded, scooping up Julie into her arms. “Whatever possessed you to walk all that way from the station with your bag _and_ your baby, in this cold? I could _easily_ have come and met you.”

Maddie burst out laughing. “It’s not so cold!” She nodded toward Julie, who was the farthest thing from frostbitten and blue with cold just then, her eyes bright and cheeks rosy.

Esmé reluctantly conceded that Julie’s hands and feet were satisfactorily warm, “but only just, and her sweet little nose is an _ice cube_ , Maddie.” She kissed the ice cube and Julie giggled. “Well, you’re here safely, anyway, and before the storm they’re predicting tonight. Come to the drawing room. I’ve a lovely fire going.”

Maddie followed Esmé and stood warming her hands before the fire a while—more to humour Esmé than because they were actually cold. Esmé set Julie on the floor beside a basket of Interesting Things while she went and slipped her arm around Maddie’s waist, and looked up into her face searchingly.

“All well, darling?”

“Couldn’t be better!” Maddie assured her.

Satisfied, Esmé nodded. “I’m glad. I miss you here, but I want you to be happy.”

“You must come visit!” Maddie said brightly. “I’m dying to show you my little place. It’s so perfect. My own little tiny castle. We love it so much.”

Esmé looked very pleased and promised that she would, and sat on one of the footstools to get down to the serious business of grandmothering Julie. Maddie turned her back to the fire so she could watch them.

Julie was chewing furiously on a string of wooden beads and dripping profusely. “Are we getting teeth, little one?” Esmé asked.

“She is always chewing on things,” Maddie said. “ _Everything_ she touches has to be tasted. I don’t feel any teeth yet, though.”

Julie held the beads in her mouth so her hands were free, and reached for the basket and tipped it over so everything clattered out. There was a shiny red rubber ball that caught her eye, and she tried to put it in her mouth along with the beads and failed. The beads clacked to the floor, and the ball rolled out of her reach.

“We are all terribly excited about your Hanukkah party,” Esmé said, fetching the prodigal ball. “Your gran called to let me know they’ll be here Thursday noon. We will not make _them_ walk a mile and a half in the snow,” she added, pointedly.

 

Maddie spent Wednesday settling in and planning and making great quantities of paper snowflakes with Ross and Jock, who were stuck indoors because of the snowstorm and needed to be put to useful tasks. When they got tired of cutting, she set them to hanging them up in the big dining room windows with bits of tape, and they thoroughly enjoyed the unusual privilege of being allowed to climb up on the windowsills and then seeing who could jump the farthest when they needed to get down and fetch a new load of paper snow. It was hardly a fair competition, since Jock was so much taller than his brother, but Ross did not seem to care.

Maddie made good use of the many fine things available to her, and together with Esmé created a very elegant table. She was following Gran’s usual buffet approach, but with considerably more swank. There was a royal blue tablecloth, and Esme’s silver-rimmed white china, and silver vases for flowers from the hothouse, and when Maddie stepped back to survey her work, she turned to Esmé and said with a look of perplexity, “I still feel like this is all a dream, and that someday all of you peacocks will wake up and realise they have an imposter sparrow in their midst.”

“I _like_ sparrows,” Esmé said, laughing. “I like variety. We _are_ just people, after all, Maddie!”

 

All Thursday morning Maddie was on the run again. She ordered Ross and Jock to take on the time-consuming, wrist-numbing task of grating potatoes and onions and putting them in cold water to keep until it was time to fry them, and then she sent them to hunt for eggs to keep them out from underfoot. Esmé had little gifts for everyone that she wrapped in silver paper, and Jamie arrived before they realised how late it was getting. Esmé let him set Esméralda loose from her wicker prison and kiss Maddie only very briefly before turning him right around to go back to the station for Maddie’s grandparents. He took Julie with him, despite his mother’s disapproval, and Ross and Jock Happened To Turn Up and Demanded To Go Along Too.

Maddie polished the menorah and set it in the centre dining room window. It had always looked big in the front window in Stockport; here it looked small and slightly forlorn. She rummaged in the kitchen and found a box to set it on to raise it up, and Esmé fussed over hiding the box with a bit of white linen.

Maddie disappeared into the kitchen to start frying latkes and spicing the simmering applesauce that bubbled happily in a pot over the fire. She loved this strange kitchen, with its antiquities side by side with modern plumbing and other conveniences. She _could_ have used the gas stove for the applesauce as well as her frying, but she was too enamoured by the romantic notion of doing it over the fire. Gran was there soon, and after a lot of hugging she donned an apron and took over the latke frying so Maddie could go change.

She came tearing down the stairs again about fifteen minutes later, in a new grey dress Esmé had insisted on buying for her about a month ago, her hair held back with a couple of silver combs pilfered from Julie’s vanity. Gran and Granddad both said they’d never seen her look so lovely, and Jamie looked very pleased indeed with her, and rather proud that his wife was being so lovingly, lavishly complimented. She really was radiant.

“It’s time to light the candle,” Maddie said, mostly to deflect everyone’s attentions away from her, and Jamie took her hand and everyone else followed behind them.

Maddie looked expectantly to Gran, who had always done the lighting at home, but Gran smiled and shook her head. “Time for you to do it now, as mistress of your own family,” she said, her eyes full of pride and love and sentimental tears, and Maddie felt suddenly quivery inside and very self-conscious. She had listened to Gran say the blessings all her life and never _once_ really thought about the day when she would have to be the one to say them herself. She swallowed hard and glanced at the faces looking at her—so _many_ faces!—and turned to the menorah. She lifted the shamash with an almost-steady hand, touched it to the waiting candle, and softly repeated the familiar words.

 

_Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with his commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah light._

_Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time._

_Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion._

 

She stared at the candle, replaced the shamash, and quietly stood watching the dancing flame a moment: the fragile single flame doing its tiny bit to dispel darkness, and its reflected twin in the window glass. The unfamiliarly elegant window-Maddie stared back at her too, and unbidden into her mind came memories, crowding in, tumbling over each other. That first very lonely Hanukkah after her dad died, the only year Granddad had ever had to say the lighting blessings because Gran broke down every single time, all eight nights—and the ones after that where they always filled the house with as many people as they could round up to ease that loneliness. Maddie loved those gatherings, but part of her always envied the children who came, having two parents and perhaps even siblings, going home all together, unaware of their privilege. She adored her grandparents, but deep down she ached to have a _whole_ family, not just pieces of one.

She stood there at the window for so long that Jamie came up behind her and touched her arm, his eyes questioning, and she glanced at him and suddenly came back to the present. She turned to see everyone else had gathered close around her. Jamie’s parents, Jamie, Ross and Jock, her grandparents, her own child. She realised in that instant that she _did_ have a mother and father and siblings now, and her eyes lit up and spilled over and she burst out impulsively, “I love you! I love you _all_ !” and opened her arms as if she wanted to take them all in and hug them at once, and indeed she _did_ try.

  

**23 December 1946**

**Craig Castle**

It was very cold and clear when Jamie pulled up to the station to wait for Rose’s train. He was surprised when it arrived to see that Rose did not exit the train alone, and he got out of the car to greet them. “Hello, Rosie,” he said, and extended a cordial hand to Róża. “Who’s your friend?”

“Róża Czajkowska,” Róża introduced herself, adding somewhat cheekily, “ _You_ must be the Honourable Mr Beaufort-Stuart.”

Rose hissed at her friend to shut up, but Jamie only laughed. “My friends call me Jamie. Hop in, girls, we’ll get you to a warm fire in no time! Maddie’s been so happy tearing apart the castle kitchen and scrubbing things with old toothbrushes all morning that she lost track of time, so my mother sent me to fetch you instead.”

When they got to the castle, he let them in, set their suitcases in the hall, and took them to the drawing room.

“Mother, Rose has brought a friend. I’ll go find Maddie,” and he slipped out.

Róża was so warmly welcomed that she quickly forgot to be self-conscious, and soon she and Rose were admiring Esméralda and Julie, and chatting with Esmé and the boys.

Jamie found Maddie still in the kitchen, standing on a chair to put back all the things she’d taken off the shelves to scrub them, and he handed them up to her to speed things up. “Maddie-love, Rose has brought a friend, but she uses a cane and putting her in Rose’s usual room might be awkward. That’s a lot of stairs.”

Maddie thought a moment. “You take over here, and I’ll go get one of the downstairs rooms ready,” and she left him to finish arranging the tins and jars and boxes.

In about half an hour, the room was ready and the kitchen was back to rights, and Maddie hurried to the room where her friend was waiting. She felt she already knew Róża, of course, and she was truly pleased to meet her in person.

After lighting the fifth candle on the menorah that night and having a lovely dinner and some socialising, Maddie took Rose and Róża to their room, and the three of them sat together on the bed and talked for a long time, and after Maddie left, Rose and Róża lay awake in the dark awake and talked some more.

“I like Jamie’s mother,” Róża said.

“I knew you would! She is wonderful.”

“I like all of them. I didn’t expect I would. Well, Jamie’s father scares me a little. But everyone else is so nice.”

Rose laughed. “Lord Craigie _is_ rather intense,” she agreed. “He is pleasant enough, but not as easy with people as Esmé. I wouldn’t dare call _him_ by his name, and he’s never invited me to. But Esmé is _so_ comfortable.”

Róża reached for Rose’s hand in the dark. “That tall boy—what’s his name? The one who was smitten with my charms the minute I stepped into the room.”

Rose grinned. “Jock.”

“Yes. I like him too. He was sweet. A bit silly, but sweet. How old is he?”

“Seventeen, I think.”

“He makes me feel like a dwarf.”

Rose laughed. “He was still shorter than me when I was here this summer. He must have shot up another four inches since.”

“Who is he? He doesn’t look like he belongs.”

“Oh. He was one of Esmé’s eight evacuees from Glasgow. She adopted him and his brother after their parents both died in the bombing.”

Róża was quiet a bit, and Rose was almost asleep when Róża started giggling like a maniac. “I bet you he’ll try to kiss me sometime this week.”

“And are you going to let him?”

“I don’t know. It might be interesting. Maybe you can start making up Jock stories, now that Nick stories are over.”

“Gosh, Różyczka, shut up! _I’m_ not going to kiss him! Kiss him yourself and make up your _own_ darned stories!” She knew by the tone of Róża’s voice, even in the darkness, that her eyes were glinting wickedly, that she was being baited.

“We need to find you somebody, Rosie. What a pity Jamie’s other brothers aren’t here. You need someone older than seventeen.”

“One’s coming tomorrow, but he’s married already. Go to sleep, idiot, I’m too busy for boyfriends.” Rose turned her back on her friend, and Róża laughed softly.

 

 **24 December 1946**

Esmé was alone in the library, except for Julie lying on the floor by her feet gnawing contentedly on the leg of a lamp table—the rest of the family had scattered to their own pursuits, and she was taking advantage of the quiet to look over the last several days’ accumulation of mostly unremarkable post.

She was about halfway through the pile when there was a knock, and Jock came in with a telegram for her. He didn’t linger as he usually would to find out what was in it, which made her suspect that he had been interrupted from Róża-gazing to bring it to her, and she smiled in spite of herself as she opened it.

 

_Dear Lady Craigie,_

_It is with regret that we inform you of the passing of your brother Alfred on the second of this month. At his request, there were no services and no burial, as he had few friends and his will stated he desired to donate his remains to science._

_I will be visiting you this Thursday at two to discuss some details of the will that concern you and your children._

_Sydney Evans, Evans and Hill Lawyers, Aberdeen_

 

“What the _hell_?” she said aloud, after a moment of perplexity and surprise. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Alfred _._ I hope science can use your brain to find a cure for other idiots. If you even had a brain to begin with.” She scooped up Julie, handed her over to Solange, and strode off with rodent eyes blazing to find her husband and sons.

 

She found them in the stable fussing over a horse that had gone inexplicably lame in one foot the previous day, and she waved the telegram like a battle standard and let go a rather incoherent volley of opinions about her good-for-nothing brother.

Her husband snatched the telegram out of her hand after she’d nearly hit him in the face with it for the second time, and Sandy and Jamie crowded in on either side of him to read it too.

“Well,” Sandy said.

“His housekeeper told me he was dying over a year ago,” Jamie said. “I admit I rather forgot about it after a while. It wasn’t like we were ever updated.”

“I haven't seen the man in at least six years,” their father mused, “let alone heard from him. Or even _about_ him.”

“If he left a pile of debts for me to contend with, I will personally kill him,” Esmé said ominously.

“Mother, he’s already _dead_ ,” Sandy reminded her.

She gave him a dirty look, and he and Jamie exchanged glances.

“Only took a month to let me know, too,” Esmé went on. “Such _timing_! Who is this upstart Sydney Evans, and doesn’t he know it’s CHRISTMAS EVE and most people are OTHERWISE OCCUPIED today and do not care to have TELEGRAMS OF DOOM DELIVERED TO THEIR DOORS?”

“I guess I had better call Archie and Grant,” Sandy said quickly, sensing that his mother’s rage was only just beginning to escalate. “In case they want to be here when Evans comes.” And he made his escape.

“I’ll… I’ll help you,” Jamie said, and ran after Sandy, leaving his father alone to soothe the wrath of his mother.

 

David, somewhat miraculously, succeeded in calming Esmé enough by dinnertime that everyone had a festive and merry evening despite the ill-timed news. Ross was in a particularly lively humour and cutting capers to entertain the little ones, despite Esmé’s sternest attempts to make him be mannerly, and Jock had conspired to sit next to Róża and spent the entire meal being transparently solicitous to her. She was visibly amused by his attentions. Sandy’s four-year-old son Arthur and Julie were both full of giggles. Julie wasn’t much interested in big girl food yet, so she just sat on Maddie’s lap and watched everything with wide eyes. Afterwards they all went back to the drawing room where the Christmas tree was and sang carols and hung stockings.

Julie had her very own tiny stocking, and even Esméralda had one. Esmé convinced Rose and Róża to hang theirs up too, and then they took turns telling stories until it was very late and Julie and Arthur had both fallen sound asleep.

  


**25 December 1946**

In the morning, Julie woke her parents at half-past-three, bright-eyed and bouncing. Jamie sighed tolerantly, making remarks about how he supposed he deserved it because he and his siblings had always been bright-eyed and bouncing on Christmas morning too—the one morning of the year they knew they could get away with ambushing their unsuspecting parents in their bed. Maddie had no such memories, not having had Christmas at home, and it never would have occurred to her to invade her grandparents’ bed anyway, not _ever_. “We were hardly as spontaneous and ridiculous as your family, I guess.”

Around five Julie drifted back to sleep and Maddie and Jamie looked at each other and burst out laughing—quietly.

“I am not even going to try to go back to sleep,” Maddie said decidedly, and she climbed out of bed and opened the drapes. It was still dark out, and too cloudy to see stars. “I wonder if we will get more snow today.”

“Come back and keep me warm,” he said, as persuasively as he could.

She laughed. “I’m the one out in the cold! Come keep _me_ warm.”

After a few minutes he reluctantly emerged from the snug cocoon of bed and joined her at the window, putting his arms around her. “My life is perfect,” he said after a while, kissing her cheek. “Lively wee daughters notwithstanding.”

She smiled, and then said quite seriously, “Jamie, I was thinking about Rose and Róża. They need a new place now that they are going to live together, and I thought—” She hesitated. “Well, we have that extra room.”

“And you want your lord and master’s permission to ask them to come live with us?”

She swatted his hand. “You are silly. But I _was_ hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he assured her.

“Oh, good,” she said, looking relieved. “Because I put invitations in their stockings already.”

“I did not know you had it in you to be so conniving, Maddie-love.” He brushed his lips against her cheek.

“Speaking of conniving,” she said, diverting the topic quickly. “I have the hardest time not laughing at—”

“At Jock?” Jamie interrupted, and she grinned and nodded. “Aye, me too. She is quite pretty, after all. I’m torn between egging him on and telling him to leave her alone. I’ll probably just settle for teasing him.”

“He is growing up. Hard to believe he’s the same grubby kid that answered the door for me the first time I came here—he’s so well-groomed now.”

“Not to mention he’s shot up like a magic beanstalk. I can’t threaten to thrash him anymore, he just laughs at me. And now he’s fallen head over teacups for little Róża.”

She laughed softly. “I never had crushes on _anyone_ at his age.”

“I bet plenty of boys had crushes on _you_ and you just never noticed.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Oh well. I don’t care, I have you.”

He turned her around and kissed her. “Yes, you do have me. And I plan to continue crushing on you for roughly the next eighty years.”

 

Arthur and Ross took care of waking everyone else in the house at about half-past five. They ran up and down the hall hollering “MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS!” until the adults gave in and followed them downstairs. They sat about yawning, crawling to consciousness with the aid of hot cocoa and coffee, while the boys bounced about like a couple of very noisy living springs, unhooking everyone’s stockings and delivering them to relevant parties, trying and mostly succeeding in not spilling the contents everywhere. Jock was behaving himself with uncharacteristic sedateness, gazing at Róża from across the room, clearly utterly charmed.

Maddie had torn her invitation to Rose and Róża in two and put one half in each of their stockings, so they had to put their pieces together to read the whole message:

 

_To our dear friends Rose Justice and Róża Czajkowska: we have a spare room in our home in Edinburgh and would be honoured to have you fill it. Jamie and Maddie._

 

Rose looked at Róża, who nodded, and then at Maddie. Her eyes shone with tears of gratitude, and she jumped up and gave Maddie a hug. “We would _love_ it,” she said. “Thank you.”

Jock gave Róża a bunch of little roses from the hothouse, tied up with a silver ribbon, which she accepted with laudable solemnity. She pinned them to her dress and wore them the rest of the day. He even convinced her to take a walk with him (“to show her the castle”), but any hopes he may have had of getting her alone were squashed by Ross jumping up and saying he’d go too.

Later that evening, the children had been put to bed, and everyone else sat about drinking mulled wine and chatting.

Maddie stood with her third glass near the tree, looking at the pretty crystal pendants that caught and shed the light in rainbows, when Jamie stepped up and hugged her from behind.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself,” she answered, a smile playing at her mouth. She reached out and touched a gleaming brass ornament in the shape of a key.

His embrace tightened a bit and he started singing softly.

 

_I will give you the keys of heaven;_

_I will give you the keys of heaven._

_Madam, will you walk? Madam, will you talk?_

_Madam, will you walk and talk with me?_

 

She laughed. Although he had a seemingly exhaustless repertoire of songs to use as lullabies for Julie, this was one of his favourites.

She didn’t want to sing the reply with everybody listening, but knew he was waiting for it. So she sang back, very quietly.

 

_Though you give me the keys of heaven,_

_Though you give me the keys of heaven—_

_No, I will not walk; no, I will not talk._

_No, I will not walk and talk with thee._

 

“But I would, actually,” she said. “I’d walk and talk with you for no reason at all. Such a _silly_ song, Jamie.”

“I _could_ make it more interesting,” he said, his eyes glinting.

 

_I will give you the keys of my heart,_

_And we’ll be married ’til death us do part._

_Madam, will you wed? Madam, will you bed?_

_Madam, will you wed and bed with me?_

 

“You are _terrible_ ,” she said, lovingly, under her breath.

He shrugged and grinned. “Nobody’s listening but you.” Then he added, rather suggestively, “I have other verses I _never_ sing to Julie. Want to hear them?”

“How much worse could you make it?” she asked. She followed his eyes to a certain rug, not ten feet away, and suddenly she knew exactly what he was thinking about and she said, “Oh no. No no no no _no_.”

“You owe me one for making me look silly in front of my mother,” he whispered against her ear.

“ _I_ made _you_ look silly? Who was the one who undid my brassiere and made _me_ look silly in front of your mother? Who’s making us both look silly _now_?”

He did not answer, but went on flirtatiously, a little louder this time.

 

_I will give you a dozen kisses,_

_One dozen swooning Hollywood kisses—_

_Madam, will you come? Madam, will you come?_

_Come under the mistletoe with me?_

 

She knew he was teasing her, not even _trying_ to be sensible anymore, and she felt pleasantly buzzed and ready to take him on, and she put her empty glass down and kissed him—kissed him every bit as deeply and passionately as he had kissed her during that foxtrot lesson.

When she let go, he looked satisfyingly surprised. “One down, eleven to go,” she prompted him, challenge in her eyes. “Your turn.”

Over in her chair, Esmé was watching the unfolding romantic comedy with interest and barely suppressed amusement. It was a bit like a silent film with the title cards missing, but some scenes really didn’t _need_ explanation. Finally, however, in the interest of keeping Jamie from getting too carried away in front of the rather impressionable Jock, she collected herself and went over to the piano and started to play something, watching Jamie closely until she caught his eye.

It was the same piece she’d been playing for them to dance to, and he recognised it immediately.

“ _Mother_!”

“Yes, my son?” came the reply, from a face that was the picture of innocence.

“Memories like a couple of conspiring elephants! What _are_ these women I am eternally stuck to?” he muttered, and Maddie laughed so hard she sat on the floor.

He looked down at her with his eyes snapping with mischief and bowed to her, holding out his hand.

 

_Madam, will you come and dance with me?_

 

She was game, and he pulled her up and into his arms. It was quite dizzying, and he kissed her again, lightly. “Ten. Your turn.”

She giggled a bit, falling into step, both of them a bit surprised she hadn’t utterly forgotten how to do this over the last year. Rose and Róża were watching, also amused, and Sandy and Mary joined in. Mary wasn’t any better a dancer than Maddie, but considering she couldn’t hear half the the music, she did rather well, and they were all enjoying themselves thoroughly, except perhaps Jock, who looked like he wanted to ask Róża to dance, but wasn’t brave enough to do it.

Jamie spun Maddie around and pulled her back and dipped her for another kiss without missing a step.

“That was mine!” she said accusingly.

“You were taking too long,” he murmured. “Nine left.”

She got him cornered by the piano and took care of eight and seven, purring up to him. He was thoroughly enjoying it, and his hands wandered down her sides, firm and purposeful, giving her another kiss. “Halfway there,” he said.

“You’re _more_ than halfway there. Get a room, you two,” Esmé whispered, just loud enough for them to hear, never missing a note. They didn’t move, and she said, “Seriously, James, take yourselves out before you disgrace us all.”

Jamie laughed softly, mostly because the twinkle in his mother’s eyes was so at odds with her request, but he took Maddie by the hand and they left the room. They made it only partway up the stairs before stopping to grip each other tightly for another long, breathless kiss.

“I think ye’re a wee bit loopy, lassie,” he whispered when they let go. “Not used to that much wine at one go?”

“I am not used to that much wine at one go,” she agreed amiably, her lips caressing his, not quite counting as a kiss—seductive and tempting. “But I know I want you right now.”

“Right here on the stairs?” he asked, impertinently.

“No, goose,” Maddie said. “I am not _that_ intoxicated.”

Four.

And three.

“Come _on_ ,” said Jamie, “you’re driving me mad.” And he ran off up the stairs, with her chasing right after him.

Once in their room, he pinned her against the door and gave her the last two kisses on her neck, the kind that sent her melting to the floor, and as he leant over her, he treated her to a rather bawdy verse for _The Keys of Heaven_ , which he sang low in her ear before he set about finishing what she’d started.

 

 **26 December 1946**

David received Sydney Evans himself, having forbidden Esmé to do it because she had threatened to give him a piece of her mind, and he had no doubt in _his_ mind that she would. “Can we _please_ avoid starting another war?” he said pleadingly.

They all sat together somewhat stiffly in one of the less-used drawing rooms—Sandy and Mary, Jamie and Maddie, and Grant. Archie was in London with friends and hadn’t been able, or perhaps willing, to get away. Rose and Róża and Jock were keeping Ross and Arthur and Julie entertained elsewhere. David and Esmé were as far away from Evans as it was possible for them to be and still be in the same room.

Mr Evans began by extending his condolences—Jamie hid a smirk behind his hand as he saw his mother visibly ruffle, and Maddie swatted his hand and fixed him with a familiar “Be _serious_!” glare. He immediately became as innocent as a babe.

“Your brother’s housekeeper, who was to him—shall we say—” Evans coughed.

“We know,” Esmé said, a bit too shortly. “They were cohabiting. They’ve been together for twenty-three years. Go on.”

Mr Evans looked a bit surprised, but he continued, “His housekeeper, whatever else she may have been, was certainly tireless in her devotion to him, and did all she could to make him comfortable to the very end. She hired a nurse when his care became more than she knew how to properly tend to. Both the housekeeper and nurse say that he went as comfortably as it is possible for one to go in that condition.”

“What was it he had?” Sandy asked.

“Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. It is a slow and terrible death. He wasn’t able to speak for the last eight months of his life, and he deteriorated very quickly toward the end. He couldn’t leave his bed or move at all, and eventually respiration became impossible, and he ultimately suffocated. It is a bit like drowning.”

Sandy cringed visibly, and even Esmé looked tight-lipped and pale.

“He donated his remains to science hoping that they might help those researching the disease. I think I mentioned that in the telegram.”

“You did,” Jamie said.

“My colleague, Mr Hill, runs our London office and was the one personally involved with the making of Mr Murray’s will. But, being closer at hand, I am representing him here today. I suppose you are aware of your brother’s real estate, Lady Craigie?”

“I am only familiar with his estate near Cairhead.”

Mr Evans looked at her over the rims of his glasses a moment and then back to the sheaf of papers in his hand.

“Well. His— _housekeeper_ —has quite a head for business, I must say—she was very clever indeed with his money and managed to acquire quite a number of properties for him, usually not very good to start with. Fixed them up—herself, mostly—and either sold them at a profit or let them out. At the present time there are nearly twenty properties in his name.”

“In his name? Was she crazy?” Esmé asked. “Why not her own name?”

Evans looked at her, blinked once, and went on. “I am afraid I cannot presume to elaborate on her motives, Lady Craigie, but it would appear she did this for pleasure, not for personal gain. Nothing was in her own name.”

Esmé opened her mouth, and David gave her a Look, and she shut it again.

“I will list them for you. In London: one apartment building, whose residents are all very respectable citizens. This is where he lived the last five years, and is where he died. This he has left to you, Lady Craigie.

“Also in London: a row of a dozen houses on the west side of Bramley Square. He—or she, depending how one assesses at the situation—has had these let out for about ten years, and has designated that these be divided among your sons Alexander, Archibald, and Grant—four for each—to live in, continue to let, or sell, as they choose.

“In Cairhead: Mr Murray’s own estate, and seven buildings in town. Four are stores on the main street with living quarters above, and the other three are houses on the south side of the town. The rents he has collected from these seven properties have enabled him to keep his own estate looked after, albeit sparingly, by a relative of his housekeeper who lives there. All these he has left to James.”

Esmé gaped at Mr Evans. Sandy looked bemused, and Grant and Jamie just looked at each other shocked. There was dead silence for a long time.

“When was this will drawn up?” David asked, finally. “Is that all of it? I ask because I notice he has not included the two of our children that we lost in the war.”

“Early this year,” came the answer. “When he was losing his ability to speak, he decided to update it. There is one more item, however—directed at some children which I gather you and Lady Craigie have adopted?”

“Yes. Jock and Ross.”

“He has left them each a thousand pounds.”

“Please tell me the woman got _something_ out of all this,” Grant said.

“Yes, there was a house in Cairhead and several thousand pounds for her. He did not know whether you would retain the London apartments, Lady Craigie, so he thought it best to give her something of her own. She chose the place herself. She is originally from Cairhead and desires to return there.”

He had all the papers with him, which he distributed with somewhat irritating fussiness, and when he had gone, the family just sat there dumbstruck for a very long time.

Esmé was the first to snap into action again. “He’s never talked to me _once_ for the last four years, never responded to any of my dutiful yearly letters—I expect that’s how he knew about Davie and Julia and the lads—I never _dreamed_ he had the brains to be savvy with money, he was always such a featherbrain. Is this some sort of complex hoax?”

“I guess we'll find out if the bank won’t cash the checks,” Sandy said, practically, then said with perplexity, “My _word_ , whatever am I going to do with four houses in _London_?”

“Bet Archie will go live in one of his,” Grant said. “I’m going to sell mine. I’m not keen to spend that much time in London. If it had been closer—Aberdeen or Edinburgh—” he trailed off.

Jamie was staring at the papers in his hands. “I don’t even know—” He looked at Maddie. “If this is _not_ an elaborate hoax, I don’t know what we’re going to do with all this. I can’t be in Cairhead and Edinburgh at the same time.”

Esmé still looked completely stunned. “I do not understand,” she said. “I just _do not_ understand.” Her husband took her hand silently, and she unexpectedly started to cry. “I’ve been so hard on him and that woman of his all these years and it looks like I may have been unfair—very unfair indeed.”

 

Jamie and Maddie went out for a walk afterwards to clear their heads and talk through this unexpected windfall.

“I’d hate to sell that house of his, but I don’t see a practical solution to looking after it properly. If we keep it, we need a dependable person to live there to manage it and collect the rents until we are able to live there. I don’t know anybody there very well.”

Maddie thought for a moment and suddenly her face brightened. “Beryl!” she exclaimed. “Jamie, I have been wanting _so_ badly to get Beryl and Henry out of Manchester and give them a new start at life.”

He looked at her curiously.

“There’s the gatekeeper’s house,” she elaborated. “They could live in that. It would be respectable work, and maybe Henry could find himself again.”

“Do you think she’d want the responsibility?”

“I can ask,” Maddie said. “I’m going to go to Stockport in January to see Gran, and I’ll talk with her then.”

When they got back to the castle, they came in quietly through the kitchen entrance. Maddie was about to switch on the light when Jamie suddenly stopped and held her back too. In the far corner, under a lone light, they could see the backs of two figures—a tall lanky one and a little curvy one—standing close to each other against the table with a plate of shortbread between them. Jock was gazing down at Róża. Blissfully unaware of the entrance of two eavedroppers, he put his arm around her and kissed her cheek and said something. They couldn’t make out his words, but his tone indicated  fervent zeal. She looked up at him and he kissed her on the lips, just the faintest touch.

Jamie burst into silent laughter. Maddie jerked her head towards the door, indicating they should go back out, but he shook his head.

“Are you crazy?” she whispered in his ear. “Leave them alone!”

“Not crazy, but it’s very funny watching him try to kiss Róża, especially since he clearly hasn’t a clue how to do it properly.”

Maddie sighed and stood still and waited.

Róża’s reply to whatever Jock had said was clear and bell-like and a little scornful.

“You in love with me? You’re just a _boy_!”

“You’re barely older!” Jock protested.

“Barely older.” She laughed humourlessly. “All the time you have been sitting in the lap of luxury in this place, I have been in a _concentration camp,_ being cut apart and reassembled, beaten, made to stand naked in the snow, starving and cold and in constant fear of my very _life_ . I like you, I think you’re very sweet, but you don’t have a damn clue what things I’ve seen and done. Not a _damn_ clue. What do you know about love?” She stuffed another piece of shortbread into her mouth and gave him a challenging glare.

Jock’s voice was pleading. “What do I know about love? Maybe not very much, but surely _you_ wouldn’t learn anything about love in a place like Ravensbrück!”

Róża’s voice went cold as ice in an instant. “‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends!’ Would you have taken someone else’s number and been gassed in her place to save my life? That is what Karolina did for me! Rose was on the list to be gassed, and Karolina and another girl fought for her number because Rose was more likely to get out of camp than any of us. If Karolina hadn’t given her _life_ for Rose, Rose wouldn’t have been there to fly me out of Germany, and I would have been dead soon enough, or raped by Soviets if I did make it to the camp liberation. _That_ is love, Mr Jock, and I _do_ know quite a bit about it. Is that how you love me?”

There was a long silence. He had not expected this venom out of her, and was rather surprised by it. He took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I’ve never even thought of it that way. I’m sorry, Róża, I really am.”

“You can flirt with me and fuss over me and gaze at me all you like,” she went on, her tone a bit gentler, “but don’t call it _love_ . And if I tell you to go away, go away. _I’m_ in charge of me now.”

He nodded, solemnly, a bit awed, and Róża left the room. Jamie waited until Jock had disappeared the other way before he and Maddie emerged from their hiding place. They exchanged glances, sighed together, and went to seek out their baby.

  


**New Year’s Day 1947**

**Craig Castle**

The family had finished lunch and moved to one of the sitting rooms, sipping the remnants of the New Year’s Eve champagne. Róża and baby Julie, who were completely smitten with each other, were playing on the hearthrug together. Jamie was kicked back in his favourite armchair with Esméralda curled up napping on his lap, and Esmé was knitting, and Jock, who had been deeply thoughtful and a bit absent-minded since his confrontation with Róża, was playing a string of very competitive checkers games in the corner with Ross.

Rose came in then, with her notebook in hand, and sat beside Maddie on the sofa, almost timidly. “I’ve finished drafting my article. Would you be willing to read over it for me?”

“I’d love to!” Maddie said, grinning at the sight of the familiar notebook. “Still using that, I see.”

“Seemed appropriate.”

The boys decided to go outside and build the Biggest Snowman in the World, and the room grew quiet. Róża and Julie fell asleep cuddled together on the hearthrug, Jamie had been lulled to a doze by Esméralda’s purring, and the only sound in the room was the crackling fire, the ticking clock, and Esmé’s needles clicking. Maddie was left alone with Rose’s words.

“I guess I am a half-stranger to you, aren’t I,” Maddie mused. “I hadn’t really thought about it that way. Am I still?”

“You _are_ rather mysterious,” Rose admitted.

Maddie smiled a half-smile and kept reading. Rose herself was beginning to drift into a post-luncheon stupor when Maddie suddenly sat up straight, clapped a hand to her mouth and gasped. She flipped frantically back through the pages to the Ravensbrück account until she found what she was looking for, and then back again. Her hands trembled and the book fell to the floor. Then, almost inaudibly, she muttered a heartfelt profanity that Rose never would have expected to hear out of Maddie’s mouth. Esmé looked up.

“What _is_ it, Maddie?” Esmé asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Maddie was still, almost cowering, silent. She was not crying; she looked as if she had gone into shock.

“Anna,” she said. “ _Anna_.” She said it dazedly, over and over. Esmé came and sat on the other side of Maddie.

“Maddie?” Rose asked, worried. She laid a tentative hand on her friend’s arm.

Maddie turned and stared at her strangely, as if unsure how to answer. “I—I know Anna Engel,” she said finally. Her words came out slowly, as though she were struggling to form them. It was Rose’s turn to gape.

“But how—”

“I can’t tell you,” Maddie said, still very slowly. “I would if I could, honest, but I can’t.” She reached over Rose for the cigarettes on the end table, but her hands shook so that she dropped them. Rose lit one and handed it to her and Maddie took a couple of deep drags to steady herself before she tried to speak again.

“I—I’ll just say that Anna is—well, I liked her very much, and I am horrified that she was raped and framed and sent to prison.” Then she added softly, as if to herself, “She—she tried to save Julie.”

Rose was quiet for a while, digesting this. Maddie also went silent again, finishing her cigarette.

“May I look?” Esmé asked Rose, and Rose found the place and handed her the notebook. Esmé read quietly for a while, and by the time she’d finished, Maddie had composed herself.

“Poor Anna,” she said, and looked at Rose. “Can you take her a letter from me?”


	11. Thing Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links to the music referenced in this chapter:   
> [Sometime](https://youtu.be/yEZTAaYLkqA?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)  
> [Hebridean Overture](https://youtu.be/zcogD-hHEYs?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)  
> [Beethoven's 5th Piano Concerto](https://youtu.be/hDXWK3W477w?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)

**1 January 1947**

_Dear Anna,_

_I hardly know what to say. It seems such an impossible coincidence that Rose should have run across you, though, that I couldn’t let the chance slip without saying_ something _. I’ve thought of you so often and wondered what ever became of you, and I’m heartbroken to think that you face a prison sentence. I won’t pretend to know whether you deserve it, because I don’t know, but Anna, I wish there was something I could do for you. I wish that, by telling what you tried to do for my Julie, I could magically cancel out any other crimes they have accused you of._

_I’m married now, and my husband and I have come to live in Edinburgh temporarily so he could pick up his university studies again where they got interrupted by the war. You can write me here, or to my husband’s mother at Craig Castle, Castle Craig, Aberdeenshire, and I’ll be sure to get it. Please do tell me where I can write to you as well. I do so want to hear from you._

_Maddie (Brodatt) Beaufort-Stuart_

_P.S. My mother-in-law told me to put in a copy of the latest photo of Jamie and me and the baby. We just had it done at Christmas, and I think she really just wants to show off her granddaughter—but that’s all right, as I am quite pleased with my little girl myself. We call her Julie._

 

**5 January 1947**

**Stockport**

Maddie did not go back to Edinburgh with Jamie at the end of the holiday. Instead, she went to Stockport, and phoned Beryl as soon as she arrived to say she had a wonderful surprise. The next morning, Sunday morning, she left Julie with Gran and borrowed Granddad’s bike to go over.

She gave a quick knock on the door and let herself in, brimming with elation, but stopped short for a moment staring at Beryl, who had looked up from where she stood at the table ironing. She appeared so dull and drab and just _tired_ , and Maddie felt briefly ashamed to be so well-dressed. But she pushed the thought from her head, gave Beryl a big hug, made her sit down, and told her that, if she wanted to, she could be Out of Manchester.

“What?” Beryl looked at Maddie in utter disbelief.

Maddie explained about Uncle Alfred and his unexpected bequest to her and Jamie. “All you’ll have to do is be there to watch over the big house, collect rents and take care of any maintenance the rented places or the estate need. We’ve worked it all out. You can have a portion of each month’s rents, and you can live free in the gatekeeper’s house, and Beryl, you can be _out of Manchester_!”

Beryl immediately burst into tears. The kiddies, who scarcely remembered Maddie from the last time they’d seen her, peeked shyly out at Maddie from around the door, as if she was exotic royalty. But Maddie looked up at Henry, standing against the wall in the corner listening, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw a tiny flicker of life in those eyes that had always been so blank. They were fixed on Beryl, and he spoke aloud.

“Yes.” His voice was quiet and halting, as if he used it so little he was afraid of the sound. But he _spoke._ “Yes, Beryl. Tell her yes.”

Beryl, still sobbing, threw her arms around Maddie, and Maddie held her tightly for a good fifteen minutes until Beryl had collected herself.

“I’ll give my notice at the mill right away,” she said, finally, wiping her eyes on her worn apron. “Oh, Maddie, _thank you._ ”

Maddie and Julie went up to Cairhead after a few more days in Stockport. When she stepped into Uncle Alfred’s house, it felt more than a little strange to think that it was _hers_ now, this place that was full of warm and happy memories of Time Alone With Jamie, but she was glad.

Maddie spent most of her mornings that week studying out the properties, looking over the accounts and learning all the details of each one from the man that had previously managed them, to save Beryl some trouble, and when she had finished doing that each day she started in on making the place hers. Plenty of his possessions had been removed already by Lucy, his housekeeper, but there was plenty there that she’d had no use for and left behind, so Maddie set about sorting through what remained. Against her own inclinations, Maddie did not disturb Uncle Alfred’s bizarre string ball in its shrine-like alcove in the library. Somehow she felt sure Jamie would not approve of its removal.

Really cleaning and sorting the place with the thoroughness Maddie preferred was not going to be finished on this trip, to her slight frustration. She did not want to stop. But once Beryl and Henry and the children were moved into their place and settled, Maddie knew it was time to go back to Edinburgh. Her nightly phone calls to Jamie were not enough; she missed him terribly, and she could come back and do more any time she fancied.

“I cannot thank you enough, Maddie,” Beryl kept saying, when she took Maddie to meet the train back to Edinburgh. “Henry has hope in his eyes now. I have hope in mine.”

Maddie squeezed her hand, her own eyes full of happy tears, and she and Julie climbed into the waiting coach and waved out the window until Beryl was out of sight.

  


**20 January 1947**

_Dear Maddie,_

_I must say that when Rose gave me your letter, you were the last person I expected it might be from. I was very glad to hear from you though. I never thought our paths would cross again._

_First of all I want to congratulate you on your marriage. I see by your new name you have done well for yourself, and I don’t mean that in just a cheap social sense. Of course I never met Jamie, but Julie spoke so well of him, you know—I am sure the two of you will do very well and take good care of each other. I loved the photo. You all look happy, and you deserve to be. Your mother-in-law is justifiably proud of your little Julie. She looks very sweet indeed, but I wonder: is she a spitfire inside like her auntie?_

_Your friends really should start thinking twice about coming to the continent. Well, maybe not so much now the war is over. They all seem to run into me—as prisoners. But now I’m the prisoner, so maybe it evens out. I am likely going to be here for a while. I told Rose I expect to get ten years, and I will probably deserve it. I don’t think there is really any way out of it, unfortunately, and the truth is, I could have made a lot of different choices, and I didn’t. I’ve done some things I’ve been proud to be a part of, but mostly I just went with what was easiest at the time._

_I would love to hear from you again anytime, or better yet, see you again. I don’t suppose coming to war-torn Germany is probably high on your priority list, but if you_ do _ever happen to be here, please do come and visit me in whatever prison they stash me._

 _Anna Engel_  


Maddie and Jamie’s Edinburgh house became much more lively after the girls moved in. There were phone calls for Róża from Jock at least once a week, which always made her burst out laughing recounting to the others afterwards.

Rose was gone much of the time, between her classes and her hobby of Obsessive Hovering About Local Hospitals in her spare time, and when she _was_ home, she was usually sleeping or studying up in her room. Jamie too was very absorbed in his studies, but Róża’s educational workload was considerably lighter. She didn’t want to be a doctor, she just wanted a diploma, and with the help of the Polish school and Maddie, she passed her exams with high marks. Rose snapped a picture of her with her diploma and they sent it to Lisette.

After that, Róża was home most of the time, and Maddie very much enjoyed her ready company there, and the ability to go places by herself occasionally, knowing Julie was in good hands with her much-beloved unofficial nanny.  


**4 February 1947**

**Edinburgh**

“We’ll make your daddy a birthday cake,” Maddie said to Julie, who was scooting along the floor, banging a wooden spoon haphazardly on things as she passed to see what noises they made. “Ow, Julie, that’s my foot, don’t bang that!”

She held her throbbing foot in one hand while she leant over the counter, studying the recipes intently. She’d been hoarding her own sugar and butter and egg rations for the last month, guarding them as jealously from the rest of the family as if they were the crown jewels. They had all been very amused at her possessiveness and ribbed her gently about it almost every day. But they were all looking forward to seeing what she planned to do with them, once she stopped dithering about her options and come to a decision as to what kind of cake she’d actually make. “Apple cake with caramel glaze, I think,” she said to Julie, who was not listening.

Once it was in the oven, she sat down for a moment. Instantly Julie crawled over and patted Maddie’s legs, making Pick Me Up and Feed Me noises, and looking up with her irresistibly squishy baby face. Maddie grinned. “You are a little piggy,” she said. She picked her up and opened her blouse, and soon the little piggy was contentedly gulping away, her wide eyes glancing around inquisitively, her graceful little hand waving about, spoon still tightly in her grasp. Maddie loved the feeling of being a life-giver, a sustainer, and Julie was _so_ cuddly.

“You are just like your daddy and auntie,” she said. “Always ready for a snuggle.”

Julie giggled with her mouth full. A few minutes later she decided she was done and detached, and Maddie fondly wiped the milk off her chin and let her slide back to the floor to crawl off again, this time in pursuit of Esméralda, who was Not Interested in Spoons and went to hide under the sofa. Róża was in her rocking chair, mending socks, and she took Julie into her lap. “Juleczka, _mój kicia_ , come snuggle me,” she said, and started telling a long and complicated Polish fairy tale to her until she fell asleep in her arms, and Róża smiled contentedly at the sleeping child, whom she refused to let Maddie take away. “The socks will still be there when she wakes up,” she reminded Maddie.

“Well, I’ll go upstairs and do a little cleaning then,” Maddie said. She was longing for Jamie to come home. He had been very busy all week and she was glad it was Friday and he would have a few days to spend more time with her.

He came in about three. Maddie heard the door open and ran down the stairs to greet him. He sniffed the air appreciatively, and Maddie took his books and hat and coat and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Jamie!”

Julie was awake again by now. She scooted over and patted her daddy’s leg, and he scooped her up and Maddie held tightly to both of them, beaming.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he said to Maddie. “My birthday present to myself is stealing a few hours with just you.”

“Are you taking her to dinner?” Róża asked from her chair where she had resumed her mending. “Because Maddie finally made that cake we’ve all been waiting for for the last two months, and if you aren’t going to be here, Rose and I will be happy to eat it for you. No trouble at all.”

Jamie laughed. “Not a chance, Różyczka. It smells too good in here to pass up. No, one of my friends is giving a piano recital tonight and I promised him I’d come.”

There was a knock at the door, and seeing that Maddie and Jamie were fully absorbed in a fit of mutual admiration, Róża sighed tolerantly and got up to answer it. They were all surprised to see Esmé standing on the doorstep.

“I missed my little granddaughter,” she said by way of greeting. “And I believe someone else turns twenty-six today. I’d have phoned first, but I wanted to surprise you, and from what Jock tells me, you are rather bohemian and spontaneous around here—”

“You are always welcome, announced or not! Come in out of the cold,” Maddie urged, breaking away from Jamie to greet Esmé properly. “I’m _so_ glad you’re here!”

“I’ll take your things up to our room,” Jamie said. “The only other place to sleep around here is the sofa.”

“I am more adaptable than one might think, James,” she responded drily. “It is not as though I am the Queen.”

“But you’re my _mother_ ,” he said, genuinely horrified at the idea of not giving her the best they had. “Besides, I’m taking Maddie out tonight, and if you were down here, we might wake you when we come in.”

Maddie had made all Jamie’s favourite things for dinner, and the cake was a great success. Esmé had even brought celebratory champagne. “Where’s Rose tonight?” she asked.

“Her hospital hovering finally paid off—landed her a job as an assistant or something. She does that a few nights a week,” Jamie said. “Gets to observe all sorts of terrible injuries, which we then get to listen to her talk about over dinner the next day.”

“How charming,” Esmé said. “I suppose you must all have stomachs of steel.”

Jamie laughed, and Róża said, “I do, anyway. Ravensbrück made sure of that.”

“Well.” Esmé, who had _not_ lived in Ravensbrück and was not keen on continuing this vein of conversation, decided it was time for a change of topic. “Jock sends greetings to you, Róża,” she said. “I talked him out of the truckful of roses he wanted to send you and into this instead.” She handed Róża a single red rose, and Róża grinned and put it into a vase in the middle of the table.

“Silly boy,” she said, but fondly. “When is he going to meet someone else and desert me? I am counting the days.”

“Are you now?” Jamie teased. “I think you’re quite charmed by him.”

“I might be,” Róża said, coy. “Or I might be just pretending. I will never tell.”

Maddie nursed Julie and handed her over to Esmé, and ran upstairs to change. She put on her grey dress and the silver combs from Julie, and set out into the glistening night with Jamie.

The recital was lovely. Jamie’s friend Donald played beautifully, and afterwards he and his girl (who had sung for a couple of the pieces he played) went out with Jamie and Maddie for a drink. They ended up talking for so long that the proprietor gave up hoping they’d ever leave, dimmed the lights, and settled down to have a nap in a chair in the corner.

They came home well after midnight, after deciding the four of them would go to another concert together soon. The house was silent and dark, save the embers in the fireplace and the glow of the porch light that came through the front window, and Maddie pulled the champagne Esmé had brought out of the icebox and divided what was left between two glasses. They danced slowly, sipping the champagne and feeling the beating of each others’ hearts in the humming stillness.

“I don’t understand,” Maddie mused, “how something like this can never get old.”

“Something like what?”

“Being in your arms. Making love. Or not making love. Just being together, no matter what we are doing. Mostly I’m just _so_ glad we do not have to be lonely.”

He nodded and began to sing softly in her ear.

 

_Sometime, to every lonely one,_

_Sometime, someone comes along._

_Somewhere, there is an only one_

_Singing love’s old song._

_The grey skies above you_

_Will change to fairest blue._

_Sometime, someone will whisper,_

_“I love you, love you too.”_

 

She sighed, content, and nestled closer to him as they waltzed to an unheard orchestra. “To my dying day I never want to dance like this with anyone but you,” he said.

She made a pleased little assenting sound. “I am getting very sleepy,” she said.

Jamie slipped the combs out of Maddie’s hair and she shook her head to free the curls into the cloud of fluff she knew he loved, though she couldn’t fathom _why_.

“It’s getting so long,” he said softly, cherishing it a moment. “I love it.”

They undressed and tucked themselves into the bed of quilts Róża had made for them on the hearthrug, and despite her heavy eyelids, Maddie’s desire for Jamie was warmly simmering, and he was glad for this rare moment of true solitude with her. She felt floaty and detached, and yet somehow every touch and sensation seemed sharp and clear.

“You are so warm,” she murmured against his lips. “ _So_ warm.”

“ _You’re_ so quiet,” he answered, running his fingertips lightly over her.

“I’m just savouring it,” she said dreamily. “It feels _so_ good.” Then she added, “Besides, your mother is right above us, and she has ears like a fox, and this is _hardly_ a soundproof castle.””

He smiled, his eyes glinting. He knew ways he could make her cry out in spite of herself.

“JAMIE,” she squealed loudly.

“Oh, you like that?”

“ _JAMIE_ !” She flung her arms out, trying to grab hold of anything solid. “You are a _terrible_ tease,” she said, breathless.

“ _You_ are a terrible scold,” he said, nipping her ear. “I will never take you seriously when you chide me with that rapturous glow on your face.”

“Two can play at this game,” she whispered. She knew just how to get him back, and she did, and was very satisfied to hear him call out her name twice as loudly as she had his.

 

The next morning Maddie woke up to find Esméralda draped over her neck and Jamie replaced by Julie. She smiled, still warm and tingling inside from the night, and she sighed contentedly as she snuggled her baby close.

Jamie appeared, looking fresh and rather happy himself, humming _Sometime_ as he went into the kitchen.

A bit later he came and sat on the hearth and handed Maddie a mug of tea. She sat up to drink it, with her cat in one arm, while Julie scooted away from them across the floor.

“That was a _wonderful_ evening,” Jamie said, fondly stroking curls away from Maddie’s beaming face.

She nodded. “Sometimes I feel like time alone with you doesn’t exist anymore.”

He bent down to kiss her, and that is how Esmé found them when she walked in—tea set aside on the hearth and lost in their kiss. Julie was taking advantage of her parents’ preoccupation to slap the water in Esméralda’s dish all over the floor. Esmé descended on the errant child and startled her with a very firm rebuke, which made the lovebirds jump too.

Maddie ran over. “Julie, no! That is not for you!” She gave her little hand a slap and shook her head. Julie turned on the tears, and Maddie had all she could do not to laugh at the eight-month-old’s cunning attempt to gain sympathy. “ _This_ is your water, Julie,” Maddie said, handing her her own cup. Jamie dried up the puddle and glanced at Maddie with a look in his eyes that made her feel wonderful, and she forgot everything else for a moment, struggling to stifle the sudden need to tangle in the sheets with him again without delay.

“I am glad to see you two still so utterly besotted with each other,” Esmé remarked teasingly, taking up Julie.

“Forever and a day. Did you sleep well, Mother?” Jamie asked, changing the subject, but his eyes were still on Maddie, soft and warm and longing.

“Like a cat,” she said, and her eyes glinted with merriment. “I’ve interrupted you, haven’t I? I’ll come back in a little while.”  
  


**14 March 1947**

**Edinburgh**

“I’m so glad you insisted on this,” Maddie said to Jamie from across the table where they were having dinner before meeting Donald and his girlfriend at the concert.

“I’m trying to decide if I like having you across the table from me so I can gaze at your pretty face, or if I want to bring my chair over so I can sit beside you and hold your hand,” he said.

“Come around,” she said invitingly. “You know something, Julie and I could eat and hold hands at the same time, too. It is awfully nice, having you both be left-handed.”

“Pure luck,” he said, bringing his chair around and kissing her lightly on the cheek. “Father is, too. You can thank him, I guess.”

“I don’t know that I will go that far,” she said, laughing.

“You’re not _still_ afraid of him, are you?”

“No, silly. But I’m sure he would think me gormless to thank him for something so irrelevant.”

“If he wasn’t so reclusive, you might see more of his human side. Can’t really blame you for the fact that he doesn’t try very hard to make a good impression. But I swear he _can_ actually be quite charming, if he wants to be.”

Maddie shrugged. “If you say so! Your mother drops hints all the time that she and he have quite a lot of fun together, but if it’s true they’re jolly good at hiding it.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, it’s true. We were very good at sneaking around and finding places to spy on them when they went out for ‘walks’—” He saw the laughter bubbling up in Maddie’s eyes, and he warned, almost severely, “Don’t you _dare_ tell my mother that!”

“Was there any mischievous nonsense you kids _didn’t_ get up to?” she asked, fondly. He leant close to her ear and began whispering things and her mouth dropped open.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “She said _what_? They _didn’t_!”

“Oh yes. Yes they did.” He sat up again and looked a bit smug.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can’t decide if I should laugh or scold you for impertinence.”

“Scolding would do no good. But laughing becomes you.”

“What if our children are devious little imps like their father and watch _us_?”

“Then they will snigger to themselves forever about their silly parents. No harm done.”

“Well then.” She sighed patiently, but she couldn’t hold the stern look on her face for long.

They finished their dinner and walked to the concert hall, hands clasped. “Is Donald playing tonight?” Maddie asked.

“Not tonight,” Jamie said. “He’ll get to sit back and relax.”

“No, I won’t,” Donald retorted good-naturedly, when Maddie mentioned it to him on meeting. “I’ll be counting every beat and holding my breath in case the pianist muffs something that I could have done better.”

It was Beethoven’s 5th piano concerto that night and  Mendelssohn’s Hebridean Overture. Maddie had never been to a concert like this before, and at first she was deeply engrossed in absorbing the beauty of the room and watching the people who were coming in.

About twenty minutes after the music started, however, Jamie noticed she had snuggled up to him and fallen sound asleep. He and Donald exchanged an amused glance over her head, and Jamie tightened his arm around her to keep her close and comfortable, and let her sleep. After the concert ended and the applause jerked her back to life in a panic (for one terrifying moment she thought the building was being fired on), he whispered, “Come, my love, I’ll take you home to bed.”

She stood up, still very sleepy—too sleepy to care that she was hardly being polite to Jamie’s friends when they parted—and walked with him mechanically a few minutes until he stopped a cab and took her home in it. She fell into bed without even undressing completely and was out like a light immediately.

Julie stirred and sat up in her little bed. Jamie snuggled her close and rocked her a while, watching Maddie with concern, and he said softly, “I hope your mum isn’t getting sick. Unlike her to be so exhausted.”

 

In the morning, Maddie did not wake up until nine. She saw the time and bolted up out of bed, only to be swallowed by an awful dizziness that sent her to the floor.

Downstairs, Rose heard the noise and ran up. Maddie was out cold. Rose turned her over quickly, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked disoriented for a moment.

“What happened, Maddie?” Rose asked.

Maddie closed her eyes again, trying to laugh it off. “I guess I got up too quickly. I saw the time and panicked and jumped out of bed and the floor attacked me.”

“Róża is giving Julie her breakfast. There’s no reason to rush down.”

“Jamie?”

“He’s left already. He seemed a bit moody.”

“Oh, dear.” Maddie sighed, and admitted, “I fell asleep on him last night during the concert. I was fine until we sat down and the music started, and then—I just couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

“I don’t mean moody in a bad way! He asked me to look after you. Said he was worried you were getting sick or something.”

“I do feel very odd,” Maddie agreed, weakly. She closed her eyes again.

“I think bed is the best place for you until you get a bit steadier,” Rose decided. “Shall I bring you up your breakfast?”

“I’d rather come down, if I can,” Maddie said. “I can lie on the couch. Much less lonesome.”

“All right.” Rose helped her up, more slowly this time, and Maddie made it down safely.

Julie was just finishing her porridge when Maddie appeared, and immediately she began to make it clear she wanted her mother. Róża cleaned her up and set her on the floor and Julie crawled over to the couch with loud hand slaps to the floor all the way. She pulled herself up—her newest trick—and grinned and giggled. Maddie’s heart melted and she pulled Julie up with her for snuggles. Julie was mostly only interested in a milk chaser, and she latched on and Maddie squawked. Julie looked up, but didn’t let go, and Maddie clenched her teeth and endured until the pain subsided a bit.

“What is it?” Rose asked, setting tea on the table within Maddie’s reach.

“She started nursing and it felt like—I don’t know how to explain it, except that it hurt.”

It happened again when Julie switched to the other side, and Rose looked up at Maddie’s second yelp. She was beginning to form an idea.

“Are you pregnant, Maddie?” Rose turned from the mirror where she was putting on her hat and lipstick.

Maddie opened her mouth to protest, but the words died before they sounded.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, in a tone that was full of both dread and denial, and she and Rose locked eyes.

“I have to go,” Rose said. “Róża will look after you.”

“I do not need looking after,” muttered Maddie obstinately, glaring across the room at nobody in particular.

After Rose left, Maddie sat up to drink her tea, and then she stood up and went to the kitchen, as if by sheer determination she could defy Rose’s suggestion and make it untrue, and she fixed herself some breakfast and ate it, albeit a bit cautiously. The effort exhausted her.

She sat somewhat sulkily on the couch afterwards, and moments later she had curled up and fallen sound asleep.

Jamie came home for lunch that day. He was heavy laden with books, which he dropped to the table with a thunk, and came to kneel on the floor by Maddie on her couch and stroked curls away from her pale face. “Decided to study here instead of the library today,” he said, looking at her closely. “Are you feeling better? I’ve been worried about you.”

She burst into tears at that, and Róża, who was rocking Julie, piped up. “Rose thinks Maddie is pregnant.”

Jamie looked up, a bit startled. “Why?”

Róża shrugged. “I’m not the doctor.”

Maddie’s outburst soon quieted enough to speak again, albeit in broken sentences and punctuated with sniffles. “I don’t want to do this again already!” she said. “Julie isn’t even a year old!”

“Shh, Maddie.” Jamie put his arm around her. “How do we find out for sure? There isn’t much point in crying over it until we know.”

“There _isn’t_ really any way to know,” Rose said that evening at supper, when Jamie posed the question to her. “Besides just—wait and see. Have you had your cycles back to normal, Maddie?”

“Just two, one in late November and one in January, and they were both very light.” Maddie looked morose.

“Do we _ever_ have weird dinner table conversations in this house,” Róża said to nobody in particular as she dished herself another bowl of soup.

“Shut up, Różyczka,” Rose hissed at her, and then said to Maddie, “It’s going to be all right. Whatever happens. We’re all here for you.”

“I’ll get used to the idea,” Maddie said. “I just honestly am not very happy about it right this minute.”

 

**16 March 1947**

_Dear Maddie,_

_I am alive. I feel lucky to_ be _alive. There were three other prisoners being tried and two of them got death sentences. I’m not sure how it happened, but_ I am alive _._

_Ten years they gave me, though. 1957 seems a long way off, but Maddie, I’m already planning, because I need something to hope for. I’m going to come see you, if your invitation still stands, and then I am going to leave Europe completely and start over somewhere else. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but somewhere warm and sunny. California perhaps? I have no delusions of grandeur, I just want to live quietly someplace and mind my own business and perhaps even actually be a proper chemist who can use her skills the way ordinary chemists do—not mixing carbolic acid for punishments or injecting kids with morphine._

_I’ll write again later. I think I said last time that I had things I needed to tell you, but since I’m not going home anytime soon, I’ll have to find a way to do it without seeing you. Give Rose my greetings. I don’t know if the rabbit wants my greetings, so I’ll let you use your own judgement._

_Anna_

 

“Róża is still not going to be receptive,” Rose sighed, handing the letter back to Maddie. They were having a midnight cup of tea downstairs; Julie was getting some teeth and had a slight fever and a need to be snuggled and nursed constantly to keep her quiet, so Maddie knew she was going to be up most of the night, and Rose had just come home from the hospital. “I’ve still never told her about Anna. I had to be sneaky sometimes to keep her from finding out when we were in Nuremberg, but she does not know. It seems to be too hard to tell her.” She sighed again. “Here, have one of these. One of the nurses sent them home with me. I had one earlier. They’re a bit stale, but still decent enough.” She handed Maddie a pretty little cake, and Maddie’s tired eyes brightened a little as she took it and bit into it. Then her face became perplexed, and she took another bite, and set it down on the table.

“I can’t eat it,” she said, confusion all over her face. “It’s like sawdust.”

Rose took a bite of it. “It’s better than the one I had coming home,” she said, and locked eyes with Maddie.

It was Maddie’s turn to sigh. Neither of them said another word, but from that moment on Maddie never doubted she was having another baby.

After that night she couldn’t bear anything sweet, in her mouth or in her line of sight. Even the pictures of cakes in magazines were enough to make her skin crawl and her stomach turn, remembering the taste of that one Rose had given her.

Jamie wanted to tell his mother, but Maddie insisted that nobody be told yet. “I don’t want to have to pretend to be happy when I’m not,” she begged. “Please don’t tell her just yet.”

“All right,” he agreed.

 

Rose and Róża went to America for that summer. Rose felt she was finally ready to see her family, and of course anywhere Rose went, Róża followed. The house seemed so empty and quiet after they left in the morning that both Jamie and Maddie felt a bit lost at first.

“I wonder if Rose will come back,” Maddie said during lunch, a bit wistfully, “or if her family will convince her to stay with them.”

“She’ll be back,” Jamie said confidently. “This is her home now.”

There was a pause. “I want to go see Beryl,” Maddie said. “Why don’t we go up and see how she and Henry are getting on, and then go see your family?”

Jamie agreed, and they left a few days later.

 

Beryl and Henry were doing well, and Maddie and Jamie stayed busy about their house. Jamie allowed Maddie to persuade him to let his beard grow out over the summer—after all, she felt sick at inconvenient times, and despite the hard work they did and her weariness, she spent most nights not sleeping well. It seemed only fair to humour her, and he had to admit it _was_ rather nice to have an extra half-hour snuggling with his girls in the morning instead of shaving.

About a week after they arrived she had a nightmare—her first in many months. The same old dream, the same old terror of having to kill someone she loved. Jamie made her tea and sat up with her until she had calmed down. “I _have_ to sleep,” she said at last, despairingly. “I’m heading into a spin. Everything is twenty times more terrible when I don’t get enough sleep.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re not eating properly, either.”

“I can’t think straight, Jamie. I need you to keep me safe. Don’t leave me.” She clung to him almost desperately.

“I’m here,” he promised, soothingly, his lips pressed to the top of her head. “You will pull through. You have before. You will again. It’s probably the baby making it worse right now. But I am here, and I love you, and I will not let you drown.”

He sang to her then, as if she was little Julie, until she relaxed at last against him and fell into a good sleep. He watched over her for a long time instead of going back to sleep himself, and when he heard Julie stirring, he took her downstairs to keep her from waking Maddie, who slept like the dead until nearly ten o’ clock.

She came downstairs unkempt and pale but insisted she felt much better, and she made herself eat breakfast.

“I want to go see your mother now,” she said.

 

If Maddie was hoping for pleasing distractions at Craig Castle, she soon realised she had been too optimistic. They arrived about lunchtime, and Esmé seemed abnormally preoccupied—so much so that she neither commented on Maddie’s very obvious paleness or Jamie’s beard. Nor did she tell them what was on her mind until afterwards, when they were all sitting together in the drawing room. “You’ve a letter, James,” she said, taking it from her desk drawer and holding it out to him. “I’ve a bad feeling about it. I don’t know why.”

“It’s from Anna,” Jamie said, studying the envelope, “but not addressed to you, Maddie. That seems odd.”

Jamie scanned the note pinned to the top, while Maddie frowned a little at the other paper, turning it over in her hands. Then she saw Jamie’s face and went silent. He grimly, unceremoniously took the paper bundle out of her hands and went to sit at his mother’s desk, and somehow Maddie understood he did not wish to have her with him just then.

So she sat.

And Esmé sat.

And Jamie sat and read, until he got to the last page. He crushed the last paper in his hand so hard his knuckles went white, and got up so quickly he knocked his chair over. He did not pick it up. He stormed out, leaving Maddie and Esmé staring after him in shock. Julie was busy with her alphabet blocks and hardly noticed, even when they heard the great front door slam below them.

Esmé went to her desk, righted the chair, smoothed out the letter, and exchanged a glance with Maddie before looking at it. She sank into the chair.

“What _is_ it?” Maddie asked, impatiently. “Will you _please_ tell me what this is all about?”

Esmé leant her face into her hand. “The first thing Anna says in her note is she wrote in French specifically so you couldn’t read it. She wants Jamie to relay the information to you however he thinks best.”

Maddie frowned, but when she opened her mouth to beg for more details, Esmé shook her head.

“I am not going to read the rest, Maddie.” There was something in her voice Maddie had never heard before, something hollow and destitute and bleak. “I do not know what it is, but I _cannot_ read it.”

Maddie let out a sigh. She looked at Julie, happily absorbed with tasting her block—the letter L, Maddie noticed pointlessly. L for landing. L for Lysander.

L for love.   

_Short-long-short-short._

Something snapped inside her, and she stood up. “I’m going to find him.”

Esmé did not respond. She looked defeated, her hand spread out flat over the crumpled paper and silent tears glistening on her face as she too watched the baby, and Maddie left without another word.

She knew Jamie would most likely have fled either to the cowshed or the chapel. She tried the shed first, because it was closer, but he was not there.

She reached the chapel, panting from the exertion of the walk, and paused at the door a moment to catch her breath. It was ajar, and she slipped in without having to make a sound.

She did not see Jamie, but she could hear him. He was sobbing and raging, mostly in French, his forehead and fists against the cold stone where Julie’s name was carved. It was so raw that it frightened Maddie. She stepped back and sat where he couldn’t see her, waiting until he had calmed down before showing herself.

It took some time. But when at last he quieted, she came to him.

He was sitting on the cold stone floor by then, still, but the tension about him was so strong she could feel its heaviness. She dropped down beside him and reached for his hand, but he pushed it away, rather hard. “Later, Maddie,” he said shortly. “Right now I am set to crush anything I touch.”

She waited in silence, her curiosity overcome by her fear of his anger. She had never seen him like this before. Even when he had first read Julie’s confession, he had wanted Maddie holding him, but that _had_ been heartbreak. This was a kind of rage she had never witnessed in him before.

She understood it nonetheless. She had felt it herself, once, on a sunny street in Ormaie, glaring coldly into the eyes of her mortal enemy while she clutched a key destined to unlock the gates of flaming vengeance on him, the man who had sent her best friend to her death.

“Miserable Jerry bastard,” she heard herself say aloud. Her own voice startled her, and Jamie looked at her sharply.

“What?” he asked, his voice a bit pale.

Maddie stared at the wall. “I was just thinking,” she said, “that you were scaring me a little, and then I remembered the only time I have felt the way you seem to feel now was when I looked von Linden in the eye knowing we were about to blow up his world.”

“Miserable Jerry bastard,” he echoed, and sighed. “I was afraid for a minute you had read Anna’s letter.”

“No. You know my French isn’t that good. I tried to get your mother to read it to me, but she refused after she saw the first line. She looked terribly upset, dead quiet.”

“Poor mother,” he said, sadly. “Oh, Julie.”

They sat side by side a long time on the cold floor, saying nothing. He hugged his knees to himself and hid his face in them, and she waited.

“My sister,” he said, finally, his voice muffled. “My beautiful, ridiculous, wonderful sister. She had so much ahead of her. So much to offer the world. But she died. So _pointlessly_ . Why? _Why_ ? I _loved_ her, Maddie. I loved her more than anyone else in the world until you. I would have given myself over to the Nazis, if doing it could have saved her.”

Maddie nodded. She knew they weren’t idle words; he really would have. “I’d never have made it a _day_ if I’d been in Julie’s place.” She felt sick and cowardly at the sound of the words, and wished she hadn’t said them.

“But at least you were able to do _something._ Horrible though it was. You put an end to suffering you _knew_ was only going to get worse. What did I do? Nothing. _Nothing_. I am no better than—”

Maddie suddenly burst into tears. “Don’t _say_ that!” she choked out. “You gave me the hope _I_ needed to push on!”

“I gave you _boots_ ,” he spluttered, his eyes a bit crazed, and went on haphazardly. “I wasn’t able to go back with you. O God, Maddie, I _wanted_ to stay with you, and help you find Julie—and keep that ass Paul away from _you_ . And I couldn’t. Not knowing what was happening was pure torture. I loved you both so much, and I was scared to pieces that I would never see either of you again. I have never been so scared of anything else in my life. I vowed to myself that if _ever_ I had you safely back in Britain, I was not going to rest until I had you for my own. I just couldn’t stand wasting any more time. I couldn’t _stand_ the thought of losing you to some other man getting in my way. I had a lot of time to fume irrational fumings about Paul and what he might say or do to you. I was bitterly jealous that he had access to you and _I did not._ And that was just you—all my fears for Julie were another mountain on their own—Maddie, _I failed Julie_ . I failed her in France and before she ever _left_ for France. I should have stopped her. She might have listened to me. Maybe it is my fault she is dead, my fault that she had to—”

“Jamie.” Maddie was still sniffling. “We were all in it together. We couldn’t have ever imagined how it might turn out. Julie would have understood. She wanted us to blow up that hotel even if she was trapped inside. She did the job she was sent to do, the same as you or I would have done or tried to do. She _knew_ you loved her, and she _didn’t_ even know you were in France!”

Again there was silence. Maddie felt the cold from the rocks creeping into every bone in her body, and she ached with it. She got to her knees and took his hands firmly. “If _I_ am this cold,” she said, “your feet are colder. Come on.”

 

He walked beside her back to the castle, his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes far away. They sat down on the steps together.

“Are you still cold?” he asked, a bit absently.

“A little.”

He put his arm around her, lightly, and sighed.

“I really don’t know how to tell you about Anna’s letter,” he said slowly. “It made me physically ill and _so angry_. I am worried about what sort of reaction you will have. And Mother—I’m not sure I can tell her at all. There is only so much a person can take. I don’t know what earthly good it will do for you to know what is in it.”

He was trying to talk himself out of having to tell her, she knew. “Can you summarise?”

He thought a minute. “Anna stole some of von Linden’s papers and translated them. Maddie, Julie and von Linden—” and he hesitated, and spat out his next words. “Buckets of blood, I _can’t say it_!”

Maddie felt her blood go cold and panic inexplicably seize her by the throat at the mention of that man’s name in connection to Julie’s, but she forced herself to breathe, forced herself to speak calmly. It did not sound like her own voice to her ears at all.

“We are going to go inside. We are going to give Julie to Solange and have tea. And you are going to tell me _everything_.”


	12. Thing Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to [Bist Du Bei Mir](https://youtu.be/wdDiRK8jfMw?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)
> 
> or hear an English version - [If Thou Art Near](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yce23qs9rCg)

Jamie’s father had come into the drawing room, speaking in undertones to Esmé, whose hands were clutching the papers from Anna in a death grip close to her chest. They looked up when Jamie and Maddie came in.

“Sit, Jamie,” Maddie said, gently pushing him down into a chair. “I’ll be back.” She took Julie and left.

“We have to talk about this, James,” Esmé said, holding up the stack of paper. “Your father and I can read it for ourselves, but  _ one _ of us is going to have to translate for Maddie, and if it as bad as all that, I  _ don’t _ want it to be me.”

Jamie looked positively ill and seemed overcome by an uncontrollable shivering now. “Maddie will be back in a minute,” he said, absently. “Wait for her.”

Maddie came back with tea and pulled up chairs around one of the little tables so they could be as close together as possible. Esmé locked the door. Maddie wrapped her arms tightly around Jamie, trying to warm him out of his shivering, but it was nerves, not cold. He dutifully reached for the papers and set them on the table in front of him. 

The pages were neatly cut from a journal, written over in German in a precise masculine hand Maddie did not know, with a French translation in red ink between the lines in Anna’s writing. Jamie’s hands shook too much to hold his teacup, and he set it down with a clatter. 

“I can’t do this,” he said. He looked at his parents and Maddie with a raw fear and helplessness that was completely out of character for him, and he turned his head away and began to cry. “It’s too damned private.”

Esmé and Maddie exchanged glances, and David sighed. “I’ll do it,” he said.

Jamie didn’t move. Maddie thought perhaps he had not heard, so she pushed the papers across the table to David, who picked them up and began to read.

 

_ Dear Jamie: _

_ I am writing in French because I want you to read this first and break it to Maddie as you see best to do, because I suspect it will be devastating for her. These are things I found out for sure after I spoke to her in France and I’ve held onto it for years since, not certain what to do with it. _

_ I’ve left these papers in a locked box at my mother’s house, so I’m going to send this letter to her and have her send the lot to you. I translated it all years ago and have just kept it safe, not knowing if or how I should ever find a way to get them to you. I want to say before you even start reading them: I am so sorry. I cannot tell you how sorry I am about this.  _

_ There were pages and  _ pages _ in this journal devoted to Julie. He always called her Scheherezade. I suppose he had to be careful in case anyone got hold of them? I don’t know. I couldn’t include them all, and I burned all except these. Von Linden’s obsession with Julie ran deep. He rambled on and on about her wonderful mind and quoted poetry about her—he even fleetingly alluded to deserting his post and running away with her at one point. In a different setting, this little tragic, twisted love affair—if one dares to call it that—might have been something quite different. She was terrified of him, it is true, but eternally curious. She never wrote about it, but she and I did a lot of communicating through eyes only, because we hardly dared to talk aloud, and I assure you that she  _ wished _ things were different. They were so alike in so many ways. She wanted to love him, and he her.  _

_ But it just couldn’t be. It was a war, and she was his prisoner, and it was his job to interrogate her, and they were both too damned good at manipulation. But I think, somehow, that hard as this is, you will still want to know about these things that happened in the last few days of Julie’s life, things that she could not write about herself. This is von Linden’s own confession. And then also mine. _

_ Anna Engel _

 

David glanced up at Maddie, trying to detect whether she wished him to continue. Her face was set, impassive as a stone, so he set the letter aside and picked up the next paper.

 

**13 December 1943**

**Ormaie**

I have come to the end, but I must write one more thing before I can meet it. My Scheherezade finished her last tale, and I must finish mine. 

Mine will not have a happy ending, either, and I will burn it when I am done.

Instead of a living woman to love and cherish, I have let her vanish into night and fog. I think constantly of what might have been, what kind of man I ought to have been, the kind of man I am too far gone now ever to become. And why now would I have any reason to try? Isolde in light and safety is far away from her miserable father, and my Scheherezade has gone. I do not want to say “to her death”, because although I know it is true, I long to believe she will somehow be spared what awaits her at Natzweiler. 

It has been twelve days since she was taken away. A few days ago I saw a girl with Fraulein Engel. It was the pilot friend, I am sure it was. She looked at me as though I was the devil in human flesh. I did not arrest her. Last night the Château de Bordeaux was blown up. Arresting her could have saved our headquarters and redeemed me, I know this, but I no longer care to be redeemed. I no longer want to  _ live _ . 

I have not yet written about what happened the night before Scheherezade was to be taken away. I have struggled to come to terms with the combined sacredness and profanity of what happened then, when I brought her to the room I sometimes use to sleep in at the Château de Bordeaux. 

I had not meant to bring her there at all. I went to her cell intending only to talk with her, because I knew the next night she would be gone. She was usually defiant or defensive when I would enter, but she had been very quiet the last few days, ever since she had finished writing. 

But that night she caught me off-guard. She was so obligingly sweet and conversational that I began to feel I wanted to do something for her, any little thing to take the edge off what I knew waited for her the next night. Nobody was around to see us as we walked from her cell to my room. I closed the door and locked it behind us. 

I looked at her for a few moments, unable to tear my eyes from the steady gaze of hers, and then I touched her face. It was the first time I had ever dared to touch her, and she did not flinch, although her eyes seemed to soften as if she was about to cry. I turned her around and took one look at the evil knots around her wrists.

“You are not supposed to be tied like this,” I said. “Who did this?”

“Thibaut. I tried to scratch his eyes out this morning,” she answered, prompt, matter-of-fact. 

“For calling you English?” I ventured. I only got a laugh in reply.

I cut her hands free of their bonds with a pocketknife. I did not let go of them immediately. I held them lightly in mine, pained to see how deeply the twine had cut into her fair, fine skin during the hours since he had bound her. And I told her she could go have a bath, if she agreed to leave the door open while she did it. She said she would. I stood in the door, with my back to her, the entire time she was in there. There was no way for her to escape except to come past me, so I was not concerned about that. 

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to drown myself?” she asked me, casually. I think she was trying to get me to turn around and look at her, but I did not dare. 

“No,” I said. “Because we must talk, and we cannot talk if you are dead.”

She made that bath last as long as she could, and then she wrapped herself in the towel I had laid out for her and combed her wet hair—I know this, because I handed her the comb from my own pocket and caught a glimpse of her. So much hair fell out as she was combing it that it was a wonder to me there was any left when she had finished—she left it in a pile on the edge of the sink. I turned away again; then a few minutes later I felt her arms wrap around my waist and her head lean into my back.

I turned quickly, surprised, and she smiled at me—actually  _ smiled _ at me. It was very unexpected, and she looked up at me with an irresistible light in her eyes. “You’ve never told me what Ferber said. You did speak to him. What did he say? Will he let me go? Is that what you wanted to talk about?” 

I hesitated. “He would not accept negotiation. He still intends that you should be sent to Natzweiler.” I could not meet her eyes.

“Are you going to let him do that?” she asked. Her hands were clasped behind my neck now.

“I must obey orders,” I said. “I’ve had a letter from him today. He—he says if I show you any more compassion he will have me shot.” Then, a moment later, I added, “Tomorrow night a truck is coming to collect you and some of the other prisoners and take you away.”

She did not cry or go into hysterics, as I expected. In fact, she did not seem the least bit perturbed. She was like a cat, purring up to me—tiny and soft, all her pointy ends safely sheathed.

“You have always kept your word to me,” she whispered in melting tones, her sweet fingertips undoing my shirt-buttons and making my skin alive under their touch. “Will you do me one more thing?” 

“What is it?” I asked, suspicious. 

“I have sold you everything that is mine,” she said, her voice low and sweet, “except my body. Would you take that in exchange for one last favour?”

“What do you want?” I asked again. “I will do anything for you that is within my power and does not require me to disobey Ferber’s orders.”

She laughed softly, put her arms around my neck again and kissed me. It has been such a very long time since anyone has kissed me that I think I had forgotten how disarming it can be. I kissed her back before I realised what I was doing, before the logical part of my brain could tell me to stop. She was so lovely, even at the end. Ragged and emaciated, indisputably, but  _ so beautiful, _ especially her hair. It was brittle, but still so long, and there was so much of it. Damp as it was, I wove my fingers into it and closed my eyes and imagined she was again as she was when they first brought her in: untouched and whole, bright with life and fire, demanding attention. I had tried so hard to think of her as an object while my men worked on her, but I could never succeed. She always knew, somehow, how to hit me where it hurt most, and I could not look as they burned and marred her, and I was afraid to look now. I wanted to undo everything that I had done. I wanted to start back at the very beginning and tell the men who brought her in that it was a mistake and she should be let free. With that kiss she woke something in me that I forgot I had, a wanting I had not allowed myself to think about during those two months she was my prisoner, but I had desperately  _ wanted _ to think about. 

“Is that a promise?” she said. “Anything I ask, Shahryar?” She did really call me Shahryar. She was still telling me stories. Surely I knew that, but—her lips.  _ God, so warm and provocative and— _

“Anything,” I said, stupid with desire now. 

She took my hands and used them to undo the fragile tucking of her towel, and it fell to the floor. Her burns were mostly healed over, but they were legion, and she was thinner even than I had imagined. I traced over them lightly with my fingertips, forcing myself to acknowledge them, remembering how before I knew her someone else had taken her beautiful neck and tried to choke her to death—and I put my own hands lightly around it a moment before bending down to kiss her there. I did not have to look then. Somehow, we ended up on my bed and she gave herself to me without any reluctance or shyness or feigned modesty—and I  _ let her do it _ . I wanted her desperately; I was completely under her spell. She was amazing, even a little aggressive—where did someone so young learn to make love like  _ that _ ? 

I thought only that she was a woman, and I was a man, and I loved her, loved her in spite of everything, and she was giving me a chance to show her that I did—or so I told myself. 

I thought only that soon she would be forever lost to me and I forgot to be cautious. I forgot  _ everything _ just for a small segment of time, and let myself be swept away by this blonde, bewitching fury. 

When the storm burnt out and we were left in the stillness together, she nestled her head into my shoulder and whispered, “Are you really going to  _ have _ to send me to Natzweiler?” Her voice was small and fragile-sounding in the titanic silence around us. 

“I have no choice,” I said.

“Everyone has a choice, Amadeus von Linden.”

“What do you want of me?” I asked, after a long pause. 

She leant over me and went on, her voice still soft, “Natzweiler is a fate worse than death, and I do not believe for a single second that you  _ really _ want me to go there.”

“I do not want you to go there,” I echoed. I felt her silken bonds tightening about me like spider’s silk, and I could not move, and she was doing things to me that were not conducive to sound judgement.

She looked me straight in the eye then, and her voice, still low and appealing, was like an ice pick repeatedly stabbing into my heart. “You’ve promised to grant me one last request, and it is this: shoot me yourself, right now. Have mercy on me, _ mein Hauptsturmführer _ . Give me a dignified and merciful death.” 

Those eyes. Damn her beautiful doe-like quagmire eyes, pools of lovely longing and urgency!

“You  _ could _ be my hero.  _ Save me from that. _ ”

And she waited, and while I took in what she had just asked, she started singing to me. “ _ If you are near when life is closing, all joyful shall I fall asleep. Ah, how serene, were thus my passing, your tender hand upraised in blessing— _ ”

I knew she was right, and I  _ meant _ to do as she asked. I got to my knees and reached for the pistol on the table beside the bed and turned back toward her. She was kneeling too—close to me,  _ so _ close. She caressed my face with her fingertips. It was distracting, and I gripped both her wrists with one hand to keep her from touching me again. Her mouth was close to my ear, still singing, almost inaudibly; my finger was on the trigger and I leant in so we were cheek to cheek and I lifted the gun and touched it to the side of her head. I would take us both at once, I thought, but I did not pull the trigger, and she got impatient at my hesitation. “Do it  _ now _ !” she ordered me, all the sweetness gone from her voice. She was not trying to seduce me anymore. She had me where she wanted me, and she intended me to follow through. “You  _ promised _ !” 

My hands shook, and after another moment I threw the gun aside and clung to her. 

Instantly her claws came out. She jerked out of my arms and slapped my face. I was surprised at how much it stung, coming from a girl so starved and slight, whom I could have knocked down with no trouble at all. And then she screamed at me. 

“I am the one who is in charge here, Amadeus von Linden, not you. You have been under my little finger from the very beginning and were too stupid to see it. You  _ have _ to know by now that all the code I gave you was fake and you’ll be tried for treason for letting me string you on so long, letting me write you an irrelevant novel, just so I could have more time. You  _ have _ to do this for me!” 

“I can’t,” I said, foolish and weeping, holding out my arms toward her like the idiot I was, trying to take her back into them. “I can’t. I love you.”

She slapped me again. “Maddie would do it if she knew it was my only way out! MADDIE would do it! She loves me more than you ever could, and SHE would do it  _ because _ she loves me!”

My senses began to return, and I retrieved my gun and stood up and backed away from her. I did not answer at first, focusing instead on putting my clothes back in order.

“Give me your gun!” she demanded, her voice high and imperious. “Give it to me! I’ll do it myself. You can watch!”

“I can’t,” I said again, and my own voice had gone quiet like death. I felt death inside me. “You are not a coward. And your Jewish girl friend is not a coward. But I am.”

And I turned away from her, but I know exactly how she looked: on her hands and knees, desperate, her only hope torn as ragged and full of holes as her clothes, her big, beautiful amber eyes spilling over with tears of rage and terror. She was afraid, but not a coward. Not her. I do not think she could  _ ever _ be a coward.

And I cannot get her eyes out of my head. When I sleep, when I wake, eat, drink, they are in front of me, accusing me. I still hear her singing, too— _ Bist du bei mir, geh’ ich mit Freuden _ —ah, I cannot bear it. I  _ should _ have done as she asked, but I did not, and the guilt and shame have eaten me up so I  _ cannot bear it any more _ . 

I do not know how I managed to get her to dress, how I ever got her back to her cell, or most of all, how I managed to tie her hands again. Thibaut’s twine was useless since I had cut it, so I used piano wire I found in the interrogation room. I knew that she would be helpless with her hands tied like that, but I convinced myself that it would be better for me to do it than Thibaut. My binding is not as savage as his, and  _ he _ would be sure to make her as miserable as possible if she fought when they came for her, and of course she would fight. Oh, the gymnastics one’s brain does, when one wants to  _ think _ one is being merciful, but is really just a coward. 

She stood up straight and defiant as I bound her, but she was sobbing the entire time, and she would not look at me, even when I tried to take one last glimpse of her face.

These were her last words to me:

“I hate you, Hauptsturmführer Amadeus von Linden. I hate you.  _ I. HATE. YOU _ .”

_ O my precious Scheherezade, how right you were to hate me.  _

I loathe  _ myself _ . 

What if it was Isolde in this situation, with some man like me? Would I have had the courage to stand up even for  _ her _ if I knew about it and had the chance? 

I do not want to think about the answer to that.

Tonight I am going to

 

“It stops there.” David put the papers down and looked at Esmé. “I need something stronger than tea,” he said bleakly, and he pushed away from the table and went after a bottle of whisky and a glass and poured himself some.

“Give it here,” Esmé said, and took a swig straight out of the bottle and gave it back. Jamie, who seemed to have shut down completely, came alive just enough to hold out his hand for a turn. “That’s not the end, Father,” he said after a stiff drink of his own, and lay his head down on his arms and went quiet again. 

David gave a sigh that indicated Intense Unwillingness to Continue, so Esmé rallied herself, picked up the next piece of paper, and started reading it aloud. “This is Anna again,” she said.

 

_ The reason that entry is not finished is because I walked in on him writing it. I was so angry at what he’d done to Julie that I took things into my own hands. It wasn’t suicide, but nobody ever questioned it. Everyone near him knew he was in trouble with Ferber.  _

_ I let myself into his room. It was not locked, and he did not hear me come in, and by the time he did notice me I had been standing beside him for a full minute reading what he was writing, and he looked up and the little life he had left in his face and eyes drained away at the sight of me. He was exhausted and had already had quite a lot to drink that night, judging from the bottle on his desk, whereas I was stone-cold sober, well-rested, and more than able to take him on in his current state. He was terrifying usually, but in that moment he was just a pitiful piece of dog shit on Ferber’s boot and he knew it. He knew he was already as good as dead, and I summoned every bit of courage I had in me—I am not Julie, with her free-flowing fountain of feminine wiles and charm and clever tactics to fall back on, not the woman he was besotted with—and I smiled at him. So innocuous, but he just crumpled under it. _

_ “What do you want?” he asked me in fear and trembling. “What do you want?” _

_ “I have a message for you. Have another drink first,” I said, and I poured him some more, still smiling—like a snake hypnotising its prey, sort of. He was already so numb and stupid that I knew it wasn’t going to be as challenging as I had anticipated to go through with this. _

_ I sat down on his lap. I had no intention of flirting with him—the mere thought made me sick—but I did want him to feel trapped and unable to avoid my presence and my staring eyes, and, unbelievably, it worked. He was my superior and never ever  _ ever _ would have let me act like this if he’d been in his right mind, but he wasn’t in his right mind anymore. He would have shot himself anyway if I hadn’t beat him to the punch, and I feel a strange satisfaction that I, a mere WOMAN, his underling SLAVE-GIRL, took away his last shred of dignity by not giving him the chance.  _

_ “What is the message, Fraulein Engel?” he asked. He was trying to be his cold, formal self. But I knew it was a sham. His unsteady voice betrayed him. _

_ “Flight Officer Lady Julia Lindsay MacKenzie Wallace Beaufort-Stuart is dead,” I said, very calmly. I said all the names very carefully and deliberately, because I knew it would cause him more pain the longer I could drag it out.  _

_ He went white as a sheet and shook his head. “No,” he whispered. Even now he could not face the truth. _

_ His pistol in its holster was right there on the desk, and I stood up and reached over his shoulder for it. He made no move to stop me. I don’t know much about guns, but this one gleamed beautifully in my hand. I was wearing gloves, light summer ones that interfered with fingerprints but not free movement, and I felt the steel through the thin cotton turning my human empathy into ice, and I held it to the side of his head. _

_ “You fucking miserable bastard,” I said. I was still smiling. “Go to hell.” _

_ And I shot him.  _

_ It was very late, and it would have taken some time for people to figure out where the shot had come from and make their way to his room, but still I lingered only just long enough to nab the journal he was writing in, wrap his own hand over the gun, and take one last satisfied look at the dead lion in his lair, facedown in a pool of his own blood, before hightailing it out of there. _

_ Anna the Avenging Angel, she’d called me. It may possibly be the only good thing I have ever done for the world, ridding it of that pitiful excuse of a human being. Is that a crime against humanity, I wonder, if the human in question whom I killed would have gone on torturing and killing if I hadn’t stopped him? _

 

There was a very long silence, heavy with grief. Jamie was the one that broke it.

“He could have spared you having to shoot her, Maddie. Bloody fucking  _ coward _ .”

His father was practically spluttering. “This is the ultimate insult to Julie’s dignity, that she’d resort to this to try to get that  _ awful _ man to—”

“It wasn’t the first time,” Maddie interrupted, with the dullness in her voice that comes after no more tears are left, and an almost-bewildered, lost look in her eyes. “It broke my heart every time she mentioned it. She tried to act like it was nothing, and at first she was really giddy with the adventure of it all, but it didn’t last. She was good at flirting and seduction—a method of interrogation, you know—but it wasn’t any good for  _ her _ . She knew it, deep down, she had to—but thrill and danger was an addiction to her, I think, and she just kept walking that tightrope, gambling that she’d always have a net to catch her if she fell. It makes me shrivel up inside, thinking about it. They didn’t  _ force _ her to do it, of course, but her willingness to play certainly wasn’t unwelcome—”

Esmé had held together until that moment, but now she hid her face in her arms and lost herself in great, ragged, gasping sobs that tore at Maddie’s heart. 

Jamie just reached for the bottle again, and he and his father shared it back and forth, intent on drunken oblivion, but Esmé went into a full-blown panic attack. She tried to get up from her chair, but her knees gave way under her and she sank to the floor instead, still sobbing, digging her nails into the carpet as if hanging onto it for dear life.

Maddie, terrified at the lady’s distress, ran for Solange, and between them they managed to get Esmé up to her bed. Esmé was trembling so violently her teeth chattered, and she could barely get her words out when she tried to tell them she was surely dying and she couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t feel her hands, and Julia was dead and life was terrible. Maddie climbed into bed beside her and held her tightly, stroking her face and her hair and kissing her and willing her to pull herself together. Solange brought in some tea and Maddie propped Esmé up to drink it, and in a few minutes she was out cold.

“You’re magic, Solange,” Maddie whispered, tucking the covers in around Esmé.

“Not really, madame,” Solange said. “I laced it with a sedative. I have had to do it before. But it has been a long time.” She and Maddie looked at each other over Esme’s head. “You go to bed. I will watch here.”

Maddie went. It was so lonely and cold there without Jamie, and she went down to see if he was still conscious. He wasn’t, and she knew she’d never get his dead weight up the stairs, so she took blankets down to cover him and his father on the chairs where they’d dropped, sighed at their immoderation, took away the bottle (“Still  _ some _ left, thank goodness,” she muttered) and went back to her room. She picked up Julie out of her bed to cuddle her, and soon Esméralda joined them, purring Maddie into an uneasy sleep, full of disconcerting dreams.

 

At breakfast the next morning they were all dull and hung over, except Maddie. But her head ached and her eyes were heavy anyway, from too many tears, and too much remembering, and not enough sleep. None of them said anything. Jamie and his father were withdrawn into themselves like a couple of antisocial turtles, the only sign of life the clouds of smoke around their heads, and Esmé looked like she’d woken up from long sleep to find everything around her alien and lonely, too much in shock even to rebuke her men for smoking in the dining room. 

Ross and Jock were so taken aback by the heavily toxic mood when they came in that they filled up a heaping tray of food for themselves and disappeared to less lethal areas. Maddie had Julie with her, snuggled on her lap, but the heavy smell of the smoke began to get to her and she had to run out of the room to escape it. The little she had eaten for breakfast likewise sought escape, and she hung over a plant-pot in the next room, gagging, and trying to get a good deep breath, and failing, and once her stomach had finally stopped lurching she curled up in a ball on the rug and just sobbed.

Julie scooted in and flopped onto Maddie, looking worried and a bit frightened. Maddie clutched at the tiny hand that patted her cheek and cried bitterly for a very long time, feeling completely helpless and destitute and torn to pieces. 

 

It was a very long, miserable, funereal sort of day, and Maddie and Julie were alone for most of it. In the evening Solange took Julie to bed, her face stricken with grief and sympathy, and Maddie stood alone downstairs, looking out a window across the beautiful vista, one hand pressed over her baby, willing herself to care about it, trying to make herself feel the same excitement and anticipation she had felt for Julie—but there was nothing. She could not even summon tears. She did not hear Esmé come in, but when the lady slipped her arm around her waist and leant against her, Maddie started a bit and then returned the gesture.

“Thank you, Maddie,” Esmé said unexpectedly, after a few minutes. 

“For what?”

“For being Julie’s friend. For not letting her down. For being part of our family.” She paused. “I have braced up all this time. I don’t know why this broke me. It isn’t as if it is  _ that  _ surprising, all things considered. It makes sense that she would take advantage of his ‘love’ for her—but—” Her voice sounded small and lost, and Maddie longed to comfort this woman who had been so good to her. 

“I want to make you smile again,” Maddie said, “but I don’t know how, when I can’t even smile myself at the only thing there is to be happy about right now.”

Esmé looked up at her, curiosity and exhaustion equally visible in her pale face. Her usually pristine hair was hanging loose instead of done up, and she was still in the nightgown and robe she’d been wearing since they put her to bed the night before. It sent a pang through Maddie’s heart to see her so vulnerable and frail-looking. She didn’t like the thought of Esmé being actually  _ old _ . She didn’t usually look or act as though she were over forty, and it was startling to see her like this. Maddie glanced at the floor, then took Esmé’s hand and laid it over her baby. “I should be giddy with joy over this, but I have felt nothing but melancholy about it these last few months.”

“Oh, Maddie.” Esmé hid her face in Maddie’s shoulder and began to cry again. “What an extra awful thing last night must have been for you.”

“Jamie wanted to tell everyone right away, but I made him wait. I just haven’t felt anything but all mixed up, and now this—”

Esmé shook her head. “Don’t apologise, darling,” she said. “I’m the one who should be apologising to you, for last night.” She put her arms around Maddie and they held each other a long time in the gathering darkness. “Solange gave me knockout drops, didn’t she?”

Maddie nodded. “I was terrified you were dying. She said it wasn’t the first time.” 

Esmé sighed. “Never mind me, I’m terribly worried about  _ Jamie _ .”

“Me too,” Maddie agreed.

 

They had good reason to be, as it happened. For several days Jamie stayed very distant from everyone, barely eating, tramping around the estate alone for hours at a time, doing nobody knew what. He had reconciled himself to Julie’s death, he thought, but this new angle made him so sick he could hardly bear it. He felt as though he had been stabbed in his heart at the realisation that Julie really had staked  _ everything _ on that final surrender of her body to her interrogator—and her interrogator had failed her.

Jamie still felt  _ he  _ had failed her himself, somehow—that he should have known, that he should have been there in her hour of need—and nothing his mother or Maddie could say or do seemed to ease the guilt that was gnawing at him.

Julie had turned one while they had been in Cairhead, and Esmé had planned to have a little family party to celebrate after the fact, but this plan was put on hold due to the unexpected drama, and as Jamie continued to mope, Esmé and Maddie wondered if they should go ahead with it at all as long as he was in such an unhappy frame of mind. 

Esmé decided to run after him one afternoon when he walked out the door after lunch. 

“Please, Mother,” he said, “please just let me be by myself.”

She shook her head and took his arm and walked onwards. “Where is it you  _ go _ anyway, James?”

He did not answer, but he stopped trying to pull away from her.

They climbed up a hill and sat side by side in the heather, Jamie with his head bowed into his knees. Esmé put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. 

After a long silence, she spoke, her tone gentle and even. “What is it, darling? What is really at the bottom of this?”

He didn’t answer right away. 

“You must not feel guilt for what happened,” Esmé ventured. “It was not something you could control. Not you nor I nor anyone. She made her own choices. I am, possibly, even less pleased than you are at those choices—but it is as done and as unfixable as any other atrocity of this war. I’m not sure but that I might have done the same, in her place.”

“I know,” Jamie said simply. 

Esmé sighed and tightened her hold on him. “What is it then, James?”

He pulled away from her and lay down with his head in her lap, as he had often done when he was little, and tears sprung to her eyes. She stroked his hair and waited, and at last he spoke. 

“It’s my baby, Mummy, what about her? God forbid there ever be another war, but what the devil do I  _ do _ if she grows up and has to go to war too? What if  _ she’s _ killed? I couldn’t bear it. I would die. I just can’t get it out of my head. And now another one coming—oh, damn. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Maddie already told me,” she answered softly.

“How in the world do  _ you _ stand it?”

She looked pained, and he quickly murmured an apology. 

“My dear boy. Every single day of the first war, I paced and prayed, in constant fear that your father would be killed, and thanking God that he wasn’t, and that my boys were too little to be in danger of being called up. Even so, your father wasn’t the same after he came back, such a  _ horrible _ war—and it was extremely hard for us to readjust to ordinary life and to each other. I hoped we would never have to face this sort of thing again, but then… Oh, Jamie, every single day of this last war I would have done the same, paced and prayed—and sometimes I did—but you were all grown, so I was able to be more active in the war effort myself this time around, which helped distract me. I needed distracting, desperately, because you  _ were _ grown, and had to take part. And as the years went on, and my friends were losing husbands and sons while mine were spared, aside from your brush with death, I counted myself lucky beyond words. I was prepared that I might lose sons. Not wanting it, but knowing it  _ likely _ . I was  _ not _ prepared to lose Julia. Somehow I had convinced myself that she was indestructible, that she would always fly home to me eventually, and it was the biggest blow I ever had in my life to hear she was dead. Imagine my tears of joy when she was born, that I finally had a daughter, and in proportion to that joy, the grief at losing her.” Her voice was low. “And then only six months later, Davie. I felt that my heart would fall to pieces, that my luck had run out, and I was about to lose  _ all _ of you. From the time Davie died until the war ended, I never relaxed. Your father would not allow me to receive telegrams or even look at the post until he went through it first, because I could not get over my fears. I didn’t tell anyone except him and Solange about it. I had to pretend everything was going swimmingly for the sake of the boys, but I cried myself to sleep countless times wishing I could hold my lost children just once more, and wishing the ones I still had were safe at home with me. I’ve done better since the war is over, and having you and Maddie at the castle made my life  _ so _ much brighter. But I am broken, too, Jamie. My heart is a bit like that pink vase that Grant broke the top off, remember? It weeps all over the table when it gets too full, because of those two tiny pieces we never found.” 

Silent tears slid from Jamie’s eyes as she went on. “So the answer to your question is, I suppose, that one is never  _ really _ prepared for disaster, and it could happen just as easily without a war. Diphtheria or drowning or kidnapping or a railway smashup could take one’s children too. But you cannot live in constant fear of what could go wrong. You have to treasure the moments you have now. The best thing you can do is give yourself no room for regret if something  _ does _ take your child away, and that alone is what has kept me going: the knowledge that they had lived life well whilst they had it, and that they knew I loved them.”

Jamie looked off over the fields stretching out beneath them, contemplative.

“Meanwhile, today a certain little girl I know is still waiting for her first birthday party,” Esmé said, pointedly.

He sat up again and put his arm around her, holding her close to his side, and gave her a crooked, penitent smile. “I’ll be good, Mother,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“By the way, when are you going to get rid of that appalling thing?” she enquired, squinting critically at his beard.

“Maddie likes it,” he said simply. 

“Surely you are not going to go back to civilisation with it?”

Her obvious horror at the thought made him burst into genuine laughter. “She promised I could shave to go back to school, if I would let it go over the holidays. I think she’s hoping I will come to like it by then and keep it.”

She was still squinting. “Heaven forbid, James. You look like a motheaten mountain man.”

“You know a lot of motheaten mountain men, Mother?”

“Well,  _ no _ , but I have a reasonably good imagination.” He stood and gave her a hand up, and she peered at him closely. “I could scrounge up a pair of your father’s old reading glasses, if you want to complete the look—”

He kissed her to shut her up. “Don’t worry, I’m only doing it to humour Maddie, and she deserves that right now, don’t you think?”

They went back to the castle, arms around each other and Jamie in much better spirits. Over dinner they all talked about Julie’s party, which they decided to have the next day. 


	13. Thing Thirteen

Julie had been very fretful about the tension hovering amongst her usually peaceful adults. She did not understand it, but it was obvious that she felt it. She had clung to Maddie like a barnacle over the last few days, refusing to be comforted for long by anyone else. As if even her mother’s arms were not quite sufficient, Julie’s own little arms were always full of a soft knitted blanket and a stuffed rabbit that she had become very attached to. She was much happier to see things going back to normal, and especially pleased to have her daddy paying more attention to her again.

Maddie, still nauseated by the mere thought of anything remotely cakelike, convinced Esmé to have a cherry tart and ice cream as Julie’s birthday treat instead, and they had a picnic outside, which Julie loved. With her fair curly fluff lit by the warm sun and teased by the breeze, her chubby face smeared with cherry tart, and her merry giggling, she was the picture of joy and innocence, and everyone felt better just for having her in their sights. 

But the happiest moment of the day was when she lurched away from Maddie’s bracing hands and took several tentative, unsolicited steps towards her grandmother. Esmé’s entire face lit up. 

“What a big girl!” she exclaimed, holding out her arms, and Julie walked into them for the anticipated hug, looking very pleased with herself. 

 

The night before they went back to Edinburgh, Maddie took the envelope from Anna out of its hiding place in her nightstand drawer and stole quietly into the smaller library. She knew exactly where Esmé had Julie’s Dissertation of Treason and Maddie’s own notebooks hidden in plain sight, and she took them all down onto the desk for a while, just to look at them and hold them again, to feel Julie alive again through her words as she paged through them. Not for the first time, she wished she’d learnt to type. It would be nice to preserve a copy that way, more lasting than the impossibly unstackable original, with its smudged pencil and tearstained ink. Perhaps someday. For now,  it still hurt too much to look at it for long.

When she’d finished, she put it all back to bed reverently, with Anna’s envelope added, and slipped out as silently as she’d come.

 

Maddie and Jamie were alone in Edinburgh for a few days before Rose and Róża arrived home from America. 

It was as if the house came alive again the moment they walked through the door. Maddie was glad to have everyone back in one place. Rose said they’d had a wonderful time in Pennsylvania, and Róża said she had had five men pursuing her, and what was Jock going to do about the competition? 

“He’s off to university,” Jamie said, winking at her. “I expect you’ll have plenty of competition yourself before long.”

“ _ Glasgow _ University,” Maddie said, pulling a face. “After all the years working at getting him to speak so we could actually understand him—of all places, he wants to go back  _ there. _ ”

Róża just shrugged. “I am more interested to know, does my little Juleczka remember me?” She held out her arms to the baby. Julie regarded her curiously as Róża started speaking Polish to her, but it only took a moment for her to decide Róża was all right and she ran to her. “Oh, I missed you, squishy little  _ kicia _ !” she said, showering her with kisses that sent Julie into gales of laughter.

 

On Monday morning Maddie leant against the wall in the bathroom  and watched Jamie prepare, with somewhat overly dramatic ceremony, to Get Rid of the Beard. He glanced at her in the mirror. “I hope you’ll still kiss me sometimes in between now and next summer.”

“ _ I _ hoped you’d decide I was right that it is very becoming on you.”

His eyes glinted and he turned around. “I might possibly be persuaded to keep it, if—”

“If what?” she asked, suspiciously.

“If you’ll let me take you to the seaside in a two-piece bathing suit...”

She snatched up the razor off the counter and practically shoved it into his hand. “ _ Not on your life _ .”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “What is it going to  _ take _ ?” he asked, his mournful tone defeated by the laughter in his eyes.

“Lay me out in one for my wake when I’m dead. I won’t know the difference.”

“Woman, thou art cruel,” he said, turning back to the mirror. Maddie watched fondly with her arms folded.

“Well, I look like myself again at last,” he said, when he finished, and winked teasingly at her. “Won’t have to walk around in dark glasses anymore trying to keep from being recognised—”

“Oh, hisht. See if I’ll let you kiss me now,” she said, invitingly.

He turned to her and grinned. “I have to leave in exactly eight minutes, or I will be late and the teacher will beat me in front of the entire class.”

“You silly,” she said fondly, and he could not resist gathering her sweet softness into his arms and kissing her very thoroughly.

“Preview of coming attractions,” he said, low, as he let go of her, with a Look in his eyes. “I’ll be home at one.”

“I’ll think of a way to get Róża and Julie out of the house,” she promised. 

She followed him downstairs and helped him into his coat. He knelt and held out his arms to Julie, and she ran to him. “Goodbye, sweetheart. Be a good girl for mummy,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. Then she really  _ looked _ at him, promptly burst into tears as if he was a terrifying stranger, and ran to her mother.

Maddie clapped a hand to her mouth. “She doesn’t recognise you without the beard,” she gasped out, stifling laughter. She scooped up Julie and held her, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.

“He’s still your daddy, sweetheart! I promise!” 

But Julie just hid her face in Maddie’s neck, her exposed eye suspiciously narrowed at her father.

“She didn’t do this to  _ Róża _ ,” Jamie complained, looking deeply injured.

Maddie laughed softly. “Maybe she just has good taste like her mother.” She kissed him goodbye and sent him off. “I’m sure by tonight she’ll have forgiven you.”

 

**25 October 1947**

**Edinburgh**

Maddie was alone in the house. Julie had fallen asleep on the floor with her head on Esméralda’s bed, while the cat sprawled on the hearth soaking up heat. Róża was out, taking Rose on a belated birthday lunch and matinee date with some of their other friends before doing the usual Saturday shopping, and Jamie was at the library catching up on some studying. He had promised to be home for lunch.

Maddie felt unsettled. She knew the baby could come any time; she’d had painless contractions frequently for a month, but nothing came of them, and nothing was really happening now—but she  _ wished _ Jamie would get home. She desperately needed distracting from the barrage of unpleasant thoughts crowding into her head. Maddie had finally begun to feel a little better about the impending addition to their little family. She longed for the birth—she was very uncomfortable—but at the same time she worried that she’d never love the new baby as much as Julie, and she did not want the new baby to grow up feeling unwanted. She was also terribly afraid of going into labour all alone, wondering how she could ever get through it if she did.

Jamie turned up a few minutes after noon and found Maddie sitting at the table with her head resting on her arms, still in her nightgown, her hair loose. All the curtains were drawn, as if she was trying to make the place a safe cave for herself.

“Are you in labour, Maddie?” he whispered.

She shook her head.

“About to be?”

She shrugged.

He kissed the top of her head. Julie, who had opened her eyes as soon as she heard her daddy’s voice, stumbled sleepily over to them, and he picked her up and took her into the kitchen with him to feed her. 

“Want anything, Maddie?” he asked. 

She shook her head.

He knew she tended to ignore hunger in crisis, so he decided he’d better be more specific. “Have you had _ lunch _ ?” 

She shook her head again, but before he could say another word, she left the room, and he heard the bathroom door close upstairs.

He was very distracted. He wanted to be beside Maddie, but someone had to look after Julie. 

“I’ll be right back, baby girl,” he said to Julie, and ran upstairs to peek in on Maddie. She was quietly sitting on the bathroom floor, almost doubled over, pale and focused. The baby seemed to know it was all right to come out now, now that Daddy was here, and it was clearly not wasting any time.

“Go call the midwife, Jamie,” she murmured. He squeezed her shoulder and ran back down. He took Julie down from her high chair and gave her an apple, which he knew would keep her busily occupied for a long time, and made the call.

By the time he got off the phone, Julie was most of the way up the stairs. He closed the gate at the top behind her. 

Maddie paced the hall, lost in her own little world. All her worries had vapourised now in her complete concentration on Coping. She sat down in the rocking chair, and then she got up again. Jamie stood by, watchful, waiting for any instruction Maddie might give, listening for Miss Wilson’s arrival. Julie also watched, her eyes big over the apple she was nibbling on.

Maddie was so quiet, so calm. She was breathing through her pains, but that was the only sound she made, and she seemed unable to be still. She was constantly moving from one chair to another, standing at the window, sitting on the bed, letting Jamie put his arms around her and then pulling away to go somewhere else. It was terribly obvious to him how much she was hurting, though, despite her self-control: her face tensed and her fingers clenched in spite of her fixation on breathing, and there were no breaks. The contractions were relentless. She felt as though the intense pressure in her lower back would make her pass out. 

At last she dropped to her knees in front of Jamie, wrapped her arms tightly around his legs and howled. He joined her on the floor. Julie dropped her apple, started snivelling, ran over and clung to her daddy too.

“I’m all right, Julie,” Maddie heard herself saying, quite calmly. She guided Jamie’s hands down between her legs, and then she howled again as her body expelled the baby in one swift, wet rush. Jamie’s waiting hands broke its drop to the floor, and, as she had done the last time, she promptly keeled over in a faint.

Jamie leant over her, stroking her hair from her face with his unoccupied hand, whispering her name. There was a little click of the gate on the stairs and he looked up.

“Nobody answered, so I let myself in,” Miss Wilson said.

“She’s blacked out,” he said, by way of greeting.

Miss Wilson began working over Maddie, who took longer to come to this time. But at last she opened her eyes. The room was spinning, and she squeezed them shut again. Jamie laid the baby on her chest and she reached an unsteady hand to touch it.

“It’s a girl,” he whispered.

“Sweet baby,” she whispered back. “Sweet baby.” Her hand went limp again and slid to the floor.

“I’m still conscious,” she said, almost inaudibly. “I need something to eat, fast.”

He nodded and went downstairs, taking Julie with him. The baby had found a breast and was helping itself, and Miss Wilson set about cleaning Maddie up a bit.

Jamie returned, and now she had someone to hang onto, she was willing to try sitting up. Her hands shook so that she couldn’t even hold the mug of warm cider he handed her. He held it for her. The sweetness seemed to flood her veins with life, and almost immediately she began to feel better. When she’d drained that, she felt steady enough to finish cleaning herself up and get into bed. Julie snuggled up next to her, staring while Maddie devoured the bread-and-butter and cheese and leftover scones from breakfast, and Esméralda was close at hand as always.

While she was occupied feeding herself, Miss Wilson washed and dressed the baby and then Jamie cuddled it until Maddie had finished the last crumbs.

Then he sat beside her, kissed her cheek, and murmured, “You are the bravest and best in the world, Maddie-love.” Julie climbed onto his lap, and Maddie took the baby to nurse it some more, and the five of them were quiet a while. Maddie was just wondering how she ever could have doubted her ability to love this precious baby when Julie reached out and touched its hand. “ _ Kicia _ ,” she said, quite clearly.

Maddie and Jamie looked at each other, wondering if they had heard right. Julie made lots of sounds, but being a baby who was spoken to regularly in three languages, she had not yet said any intelligible words besides Daddy and No.

“This is your wee baby sister, Julie,” Jamie said. “She’s a lassie. Not a kitty. Esméralda is a kitty.”

“No, Dada.  _ Kicia _ ,” Julie repeated, waving her chubby little hand. “My  _ kicia _ .”

Jamie looked a bit bewildered, but Maddie burst out laughing. “She’s Róża’s  _ kicia _ , so the baby is Julie’s  _ kicia _ . It makes perfect sense to me.”

 

When Rose and Róża arrived home at about five, the house was unnaturally quiet, and Rose wondered if Maddie and Jamie had gone out. It seemed unlikely that they  _ would _ —

“Maddie?” she called tentatively up the stairs.

Then she heard the gate at the top of the stairs rattle, and Julie grinned at her through it. “ _ Kicia _ , _ kicia _ , _ kicia _ ,” she babbled, very pleased with herself.

Then Jamie appeared and Rose looked at him, worried. “Is Maddie okay?”

“Come on up,” he said, beaming, nodding towards the bedroom door. He stood hugging Julie while Rose went to Maddie. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the baby contentedly snuggled up on Maddie’s chest.

“Just since I’ve been gone?” she asked in disbelief.

“Two and a half hours this time,” Maddie said, laughing softly, her eyes glowing. “A sister for Julie. Come touch her, she’s as real as me!”

They heard Róża ascending the stairs—careful steps punctuated by the click of her cane. “What’s going on?” she called. Jamie waved his hand to welcome her in, and she also was thoroughly delighted at the sight of the tiny baby.

This one was darker than Julie had been, with the faintest hint of dark fuzz for hair. Everyone sat on the bed together and admired the baby, passing her around. 

“What are you going to call her?” Róża asked. 

“I was set on Bristol for a girl,” Jamie said. “Maddie says that’s silly.”

“So was Çerise,” Maddie said, tolerantly. 

“Bristol  _ is _ a lovely name, though,” Rose said. 

“How about Hurricane? Spitfire?” Maddie said, rolling her eyes a bit. “Julie keeps insisting her name is Kicia,” she said, “and it’s  _ adorable _ that she’s decided on a name all on her own.”

“But then we’ll have two  _ kicias _ in the house and the girls will never know who’s being called!” Jamie argued. He was determined to have his way this time.

“We could just turn it into English,” Maddie insisted. “I think the baby looks like a Kitty.”

“You could name her Katharine,” Rose said, “and call her Kitty for short.”

“Katharine Margaret!” Róża improved. 

“Katharine Margaret  _ Bristol _ ,” Jamie said. 

 

Kitty spent her first week of life relatively quiet, as if the sudden transition from warm and comforting womb to cold, damp Edinburgh had sent her into shock. None of the rest of them knew that they should be savouring this last bit of repose, because after she adjusted to being an external baby, Kitty set about living life with a noisy energy that left the entire household stunned in its wake. Unlike her mild, easygoing sister, Kitty was just outright contrary most of the time. She never napped for more than ten minutes at a time and was unimpressed by all attempts to entertain her. She was always widest awake when Maddie and Jamie were wanting to go to sleep. She screamed if she was not being nursed or held, and sometimes screamed even if she  _ was _ being held. 

“I’m having second thoughts about Hurricane and Spitfire,” Maddie said sleepily in Jamie’s direction at three o’clock one Tuesday morning in November as she changed Kitty by torchlight. Kitty was raging at the indignity of being bared to the cold and only fell silent again once she was nursing. Jamie didn’t say anything until Maddie lay Kitty in her cot and Kitty started straight in on something that sounded like an operatic diva’s death scene. Maddie jumped up again, picked up the child, and collapsed to bed with Kitty beside her, nursing her to silence her. 

“Is she  _ ever _ going to sleep in her own bed?” Jamie asked, his voice flat and unimpressed. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this over the last couple of weeks, and Maddie, nerves frayed thin from so many sleepless nights, burst into tears, and Jamie sighed and turned over and attempted to go back to sleep without another word.

A few more nights of this, and Jamie decided to take Kitty’s training into his own hands. He declared she could scream all she wanted, but she  _ was _ going to go to sleep without being attached to Maddie for once.

It didn’t end well. Maddie followed Jamie around the room, weeping and begging for him to hand back her screaming child. He refused, saying Kitty needed to learn who was in charge, and she ended up literally pulling Kitty out of his firm grasp. Kitty gulped and sniffled and sobbed in Maddie’s arms, all the while nursing like a fury for over an hour before she calmed down afterwards, and Jamie got a bit sulky at his authority being challenged. 

The next night Jamie tried again, and this time when Maddie tried to take Kitty, Jamie snapped at her that if they kept giving in, Kitty would learn that she could just scream long enough and eventually she’d get her own way.

“She’s A MONTH OLD,” Maddie shouted back, partly because she was cross and defensive, but mostly because otherwise she couldn’t be heard over Kitty’s ruckus. “She  _ doesn’t understand _ . How could she possibly!” 

Jamie disagreed heatedly, and Maddie continued to insist that if the baby was going to scream anyway, she would hold her. 

Jamie glared at her, but he handed Kitty back and went out of the room. He didn’t come back to bed that night. 

The next night he did come to bed as usual, apparently resigned to the perpetual presence of a Small Person between him and Maddie, but without any enthusiasm, and without once stepping in to help soothe the unhappy infant or its mother. It was obvious that since she didn’t want him to force Kitty to comply, he considered Maddie to be On Her Own.

Jamie took to staying down at the kitchen table with his books until it grew quiet upstairs, and spending more hours at the library instead of coming home. He hardly spoke to Maddie, and Rose was not subtle about the fact that she sided with Maddie and was angry at Jamie for not being more sympathetic, which did nothing to improve his disposition or the general atmosphere at home. Róża remained carefully neutral in the middle of it all. She was always on hand for Julie, but there wasn’t much anyone but Maddie could do for Kitty.

 

**December 1947**

**Edinburgh**

Jamie was getting ready to go out for the evening with Donald—another concert, Christmas music, in which Donald’s girlfriend was going to be singing—and Maddie couldn’t go with him because of Kitty. This hurt her deeply, because she  _ so _ longed to get out of the house and do something with him, have him pay loving attention to her and pamper her like Ordinary Jamie loved to do, not be so constantly short-tempered and growly. 

“Maddie! Your damn cat  _ ate my shoelaces _ !” His voice carried all the way downstairs.

She rushed up to their room, tears stinging her eyes because she was trying to hold them back. “You  _ know _ Esméralda chews anything leather that she can reach!” she cried out, quick to defend her precious cat. “You can’t blame her if  _ you _ left something out!”

He glared at her and turned his attention to a pair of her shoes, taking out the laces from them to use, not saying another word to her before he left, not even a goodbye as he walked out the door. It slammed behind him and Maddie couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. She sobbed miserably for a long time on the couch. Róża quietly spirited Julie upstairs and left Rose to comfort Maddie. Maddie refused to complain to anyone about Jamie, but her heart  _ ached _ with holding in the sadness and the strain. She was so tired, and she knew another long night of fussy Kitty lay ahead of her. Rose clattered about in the kitchen making dinner after Maddie calmed down, fuming and muttering threats about punching Jamie in the face when he got back in.

Maddie was still wide awake at midnight, not a little resentful of the fact that Jamie had probably gone out to the pub with Donald instead of coming straight home, and the irrational thoughts that always accompanied sleep deprivation began to flood into her brain. She imagined the two of them having a jolly time without her. Maybe Jamie would be telling Donald he was tired of her, maybe complaining about Kitty. Undoubtedly he had been acting very happy from the minute he walked out the door and would continue to act happy until he came back through the door, whenever that was. Or maybe it wasn’t acting. Maybe being away from her was a relief to him—

She had a small lamp on, and she was in the rocking chair nursing Kitty, who was contented for the moment, when Jamie finally came in at nearly one o’clock. He looked at her briefly, but said nothing as he undressed and got into bed. His back was to her, but she could tell he was not sleeping. She lay Kitty on the bed carefully and laid one hand on his arm. He glanced up for just an instant, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“Go to sleep, Maddie,” he said shortly.

She hesitated, then took her hand away, turned off the light, slid under the covers, and quietly cried herself to sleep.

The next day Jamie was again cold and distant, and Maddie went to bed without him. She woke up from a doze at two in the morning. Jamie had not come to bed, and Kitty was sleeping at last. Maddie very carefully got out of bed so as not to wake her, and quietly went downstairs.

The light by the table was on, and Jamie had fallen dead asleep, his head on one arm on his open books with his pencil still in his other hand. Maddie winced a little at how utterly exhausted he looked, even asleep, and lightly laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Come to bed, Jamie,” she whispered.

He did not stir or open his eyes. “Have to finish this paper,” he murmured. 

“Come to bed,” she said again, more urgently, and took the pencil from his hand and firmly took hold of his arm. He stood up and allowed her to lead him upstairs and tuck him in, Maddie all the while silently willing Kitty to stay asleep.

The threat of storm hung lower than ever over the house for the next several days. Maddie and Jamie talked to Julie and Rose and Róża as cheerfully as they could manage, but not to each other, and then exams were over and it was time to go to Craig Castle for Christmas. 

Rose and Róża stayed behind this time to spend the holiday with some other friends, and Maddie and Jamie and the girls’ train ride seemed interminable. Jamie and Julie sat on one bench together, and Maddie and Kitty were facing them, but nobody was talking except for Jamie to Julie, and he was speaking in French—to deliberately exclude her, Maddie was positive—and by the time they arrived, she felt dull and subdued and too tired to enjoy herself, and Esmé immediately perceived things were not right. She took Maddie straight up to her room and sat her down.

“All right, darling, out with it,” she said. “What is going on between you two now? I could cut the air between you with a knife, it’s so heavy.”

Maddie promptly burst into tears, and it was a long time before she could get any words out. “It’s Kitty. She is  _ so _ demanding, and she screams so much,” she wailed. “I get no sleep at all unless she sleeps with me, and Jamie doesn’t like having her with us all the time. He’s gone so much, and at night, when Kitty is at her worst and I need him the most, he avoids coming up until after she settles down. He hasn’t spoken to me in  _ days _ , and I guess I haven’t tried much to change that. I’m so tired _. _ We are  _ both _ always so tired, and I’m always in tears, and I feel like I’m not a nice person anymore because I get so  _ angry. _ ”

Maddie sobbed out all her woes, told her about not being able to go to the concert or anywhere because of Kitty. Esmé listened patiently and didn’t say anything for a while after Maddie finished, just put her arm around her and waited. Finally she said, “Don’t have any more children for a while, darling.”

“I don’t want to. I didn’t  _ mean _ to have this one.” Maddie’s tears started again. “Jamie never touches me now. Most of the time I’m too tired to care, and I think he is too, but—”

“I understand. You feel like the bond between you is disintegrating, and you’re afraid Kitty is responsible.”

Maddie nodded, scrubbing at her eyes.

“Only time can soothe some babies. Whenever you can see that she has understanding of what you are telling her, maybe in a few months, you can start being firm about things like where she sleeps—but until then, I’m afraid you will just have to wait out the storm. Archie was a bit like that. One of the hundred reasons there is a larger space between him and Grant.  _ So _ high-spirited and temperamental—” She looked up. “Would you consider me to be interfering if I kept Kitty for an afternoon so you and Jamie can go on a walk together? I could give him a lecture myself, and believe me I’d love to, but really  _ you _ need to sort this out with him, not me.”

Maddie’s face brightened a little. “Oh, would you?”

 

Jamie seemed so moody at lunch that nobody even  _ tried _ to talk to him, and afterwards Esmé managed to corner him to keep him from disappearing whilst Maddie fed Kitty—a very long process, because she was a champion slowpoke about nursing—and then Esmé took Kitty and marched Maddie and Jamie downstairs, ordered them into their wraps, and then literally shooed them out into the snowy winter landscape together.

They walked down the drive, crunching through the snow. They had their mittened hands stuffed in their pockets, and Maddie realised with a pang that they hadn’t even held hands for  _ such  _ a long while. She glanced over at him surreptitiously and he was deep in his own world of thought—and not very cheerful thought at that, if his blazing eyes were any indication. 

They did not speak until they got to the gate, when Jamie stopped walking and asked, “What exactly the hell is my mother trying to accomplish, sending us out here?” His tone was a bit sharp, and Maddie felt herself shrink away from this confrontation. “Have you been complaining to  _ her _ about me, too?”

“No,” she said, her voice unsteady. “No, I told her that I missed you.”

He didn’t answer for a while, but folded his arms and leant against the wall by the gate, staring into the far distance. Maddie stood a little away from him, watching him, unsure of herself. She swallowed, and braced herself, and took a step toward him, and laid her woolly grey hand on his arm. 

“I  _ really _ miss you, Jamie.” Her voice held the peculiar childlike tone she always had when she was scared. “I feel like you’re in another world. How can I bring you back to mine?”

He remained silent and she leant her head on his shoulder and waited. 

“I am worn out,” he said finally. “My grades are dropping, and I  _ have _ to get them back up or I might fail the exams next time ’round. I skated by on these last ones, but only just. It won’t do, Maddie. Kitty is driving me batty. I resent the unbridled voicing of her opinions and I resent that she has made you so exhausted and preoccupied that you have no time for me.”

“No time for  _ you _ !” Maddie burst out indignantly, withdrawing her hand and stepping back. “I wait up for you almost every night, but you take so long about coming up that I’m asleep when you finally do. I am home  _ all day _ with a high-maintenance infant and a little girl who is always being pushed aside because her little sister is so blooming  _ demanding _ —Jamie, if it wasn’t for Róża, Julie would be a horribly lonely girl right now. And then you come home and eat and study some more while I keep on caring for my high-maintenance infant— _ our _ infant!—until she or I or both of us wear ourselves out  _ crying _ —” She started to cry in spite of herself, and turned away from him. “You were very involved with Julie!”

“Julie did not scream for three hours straight every single night,” he said, somewhat coldly. “She actually took  _ naps _ so you and I could do other things with our lives besides merely trying and failing to soothe her.” 

Maddie tried to control her tears, but his words cut deep, and she couldn’t stop them. She sank down and sat in the snow and just cried.

After what seemed a very long time, she felt Jamie touch her shoulder. “Get up, Maddie, you’ll freeze if you just keep sitting there.” He gave her a hand up, and she brushed the snow off her coat. Her mittens were soaked and slimy from crying into them, and he took them off her hands, gave her one of his, and put her bare hand into his pocket with his own. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and walked with him, still sniffling, but taking some comfort in their clandestinely clasped hands.

They walked a long time, not saying much, but Jamie seemed calmer. They saw a fox in a hedge and a few deer bounding away across the fields, and gradually they began to say things to each other—things unrelated to the crisis at hand, ordinary things—observations about Ross and Jock, what they would be having for tea, what they might do on New Year’s Eve. It felt a  _ little _ stilted, and not quite natural, but the hostile silence had dissolved. That was an improvement.

Finally Jamie said, “Your granddad ’phoned while you were upstairs with Mother.”

“What?” Maddie looked at him in surprise.

“He gave me a tonguelashing and told me if I didn’t shape up, he was going to come and take you and the girls to Stockport until I did.” He looked into her eyes. “How did  _ he _ know?”

“I didn’t say anything to him, I swear I didn’t.”

He sighed. “Maybe Rose did. She has made no secret of her displeasure with me... well, anyway, it made me madder.”

“I wondered what had happened to turn you into such a thundercloud.”

He was quiet for a while, then he said, “Tell me what’s bothering you, Maddie.”

She was hesitant at first, but he promised her he was not going to be angry anymore, and after a while she told him the things she had told Esmé. “I know you think I’m spoiling her, but I can’t see how loving her through everything is spoiling her, and anyway, I’m no use to anyone if I can’t sleep, am I? I need you to support me, not fight against me. I know Kitty is a pain in the neck, but I can’t help that. We just have to make the best of it, and if you would just hold her sometimes, it would be so wonderful. She might scream, but she needs to know she’s loved.” He didn’t respond, so she added, a bit uncertainly “And you haven’t exactly  _ said  _ it, but I feel you blame me a bit for having gotten pregnant in the first place—”

“Well, I seem to recall having had something to do with  _ that _ ,” he said drily. “I don’t blame you for that, actually, but I understand why you would have gotten that impression.” He stood still and sighed deeply, eyes on the ground. After a minute he looked up to her, his expression unexpectedly vulnerable. “I haven’t made love to you since before Kitty was born and between school and her I’ve been so stressed for so long that I feel like a gigantic ball of tension all the damn time. But I never asked, because I knew you weren’t going to be keen on the idea when I was being so nasty. And we’re both always so tired, anyway, and—”

“I probably would have wanted to slap you if you  _ had _ asked,” she agreed. “But still, if I’d known—” 

“Dinnae fash yourself,” he said. He slipped his arm around her. “It would have been beastly piggish of me to expect that of you when I wasn’t doing one single thing to help you with  _ your _ troubles.” She leant her head against his shoulder and they turned around in the gathering dusk to make their way back to the castle, walking faster now because they were getting cold. 

When they got inside and took off their wraps, Maddie stepped away from him toward the stairs, but he caught her hand and pulled her back to him and held her tightly for a long time. No more was said about Kitty, but when they came to the drawing room where their children were with Esmé, Jamie stood for several minutes in the doorway with his hands behind his back, looking very thoughtful, and then he strode purposefully to his mother, took Kitty from her, and walked with her over to the Christmas tree. While she looked at the lights, he had a gentle and serious one-sided conversation with her—in French, and too quiet for Maddie to have made much of anyway—but her sore heart warmed to see it. She stayed back, because she knew the minute Kitty saw her she would realise she was famished, so she took the opportunity to snuggle Julie.

Jamie turned and sat on the hearthrug facing Maddie. “Swap you,” he said, “before she gets mad.” So they exchanged girls and Jamie cuddled Julie, resting his chin on her head as together they watched Kitty feeding.

“I hope she wasn’t much trouble,” Maddie said, turning toward Esmé. 

“None at all. I even got her to go to sleep for about twenty minutes. She didn’t cry much.” She stood up. “I’ll be back in a little bit,” she said, making for the door. “Going to find out what the boys ran off to do.”

“Like fun she is,” Jamie said under his breath with amusement in his eyes. That was refreshing, to see him be lighthearted about something, and impulsively Maddie put out her free hand to him, and he took it and kissed it, and she smiled at him. She really  _ was _ so easily made happy by little things, he thought, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to make it all up to her.

 

That night, after Julie was asleep and Kitty had worn herself out with her nightly screaming party, Maddie and Jamie fell into bed exhausted. But there was a different mood now.

Jamie snuggled up to her and kissed her cheek and whispered, “Hey, Maddie, I love you. I’m sorry. For everything.”

She stroked his hand, and he went on, “I think I’ve been too ambitious. I’m going to take fewer classes at a time next year. It’ll take a bit longer to finish, but I think it’ll be better for us.”

“That would be wonderful,” she murmured. She turned his face towards hers and kissed him as if she did not intend ever to let go. But she did, eventually, and he wrapped his arms around her and teased her neck with his lips.

“Oh, you lovely woman,” he whispered. “Do you think Kitty will stay asleep long enough for us to—”

Maddie laughed softly. “We might have about twenty minutes, if we are lucky. If we leave our bed, maybe we’d have longer.” She tossed their eiderdown to the floor and waited a moment. Kitty did not stir, and her two desperate parents dropped to the floor together. After Maddie very willingly let Jamie ravish her to his heart’s content, they fell into a deep and restful slumber in each other's arms.

 

After that, things were better in many ways, except for the small matter of Kitty’s unwillingness to ever sleep. 

“Surely she will grow out of this soon,” Maddie said almost every night, with desperate hope. 

Kitty did not grow out of it soon, however. She continued to not nap for more than ten minutes at a time, and bedtime was a battle of wills every single night for almost three full years of her life, before she finally came to grips with the fact that closing her eyes and being still would not be The End of the World. 


	14. Thing Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide which version of "Believe Me" to link to here, so take your pick of these two. Or listen to both, because they are both gorgeous. 
> 
> [A Cappella Choral Version](https://youtu.be/WDa4oQwJzZA?list=PLs10EdO6rZIWKwFdPpGrVYtihSkcfMvJE)   
>  Solo Version

**November 1951**

**Fraserburgh, Aberdeenshire**

 

Maddie wandered happily down the wet sidewalk, umbrella up to shield her new hat from the relentless rain, looking in shop windows, blithely unconcerned about the frequent splashings she received from passing vehicles. (There  _ was  _ a reason she always chose brown suits.) 

She and Jamie had decided just that morning to come spend the weekend here. They’d left the girls and Esméralda with Beryl, who by now was used to the spontaneity with which Jamie and Maddie lived their lives. Kitty had just turned four, and Maddie was sure that she’d not be  _ too _ much trouble at bedtime.

Jamie had been working in Fraserburgh for nearly a year, since he finished university and they had moved to Cairhead, but Maddie had kept so busy with work at the estate and caring for the girls that she had not yet been to see where he worked. 

She had felt a bit shy when they’d first arrived this morning. She sat close to him, quietly watching everything, but soon she got over that. His supervisor came to talk to her and was rather charmed by her mechanical mind and spent a good hour of his morning picking her brain, and then Maddie had gone out to find themselves a place to stay. 

Now as she arrived back at the office, Maddie smiled broadly at Jamie. “I’ve brought lunch,” she said.

He looked up at her fondly for an instant before going back to the letter he was writing. “You can start without me. I told Frank I’d work through lunch so I could leave a bit early.”

“Drain drudge,” she accused, leaning forward to kiss his head. “If you won’t stop to eat, I’ll feed you. Ridiculous man.” And she perched herself on the edge of his desk and ate her sandwich with one hand and broke off pieces of his for him with the other.

Then she helped Jamie answer the rest of the stack of letters, and when they finished those, she watched him intently leaning over his paper with his ruler and pencil, and suddenly she giggled out loud. 

He didn’t look up. “What’s so funny?” 

“If anyone in Stockport had  _ ever _ told eighteen-year-old me that over the next thirteen years I’d have two children and a cat, fly hundreds of planes all over Britain and France, inherit an estate, help the French resistance blow things up, marry an earl’s son and get to watch him draw drains, I would have given them the biggest sceptical glare  _ ever _ .”

He kissed her, beaming. “You make the present sound so anticlimactic,” he said.

 

At three o’clock Jamie put away his work and lovingly escorted Maddie out the door. 

“I am still  _ immensely _ proud to be your husband, Mrs B,” he said in her ear as they put up their brolly and made their way down the sidewalk. “I _ love _ being seen with you. The most beautiful woman in all of Britain, and she’s mine.”

“Flatterer,” she said. But she looked very pleased.

The rain was still pouring down and the wind had picked up, and although it was not yet sunset, the sky was very dark. They made a dash for the guest house Maddie had found and shed their coats. Their hostess hung them dripping over the flagstones by the door, promised to send them up some supper at six, and then they went upstairs to their bedroom alone. 

The lady had built a fire for them, and Jamie knelt before it, warming his hands. “Reminds me of our first night at Uncle Alfred’s a bit, doesn’t it? Quiet room, warm fire—”

She knelt beside him and put her arm around his shoulders, watching as the flames tasted the kindling and found it to their liking. He looked into her eyes fondly and started singing to her.

 

_ It is not while beauty and youth are thine own _

_ And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, _

_ That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known _

_ To which time will but make thee more dear. _

_ No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, _

_ But as truly loves on to the close, _

_ As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets  _

_ The same look which she turned when he rose. _

 

“You read my thoughts,” she said, low.

“And what were your thoughts?”

“How we are the same people as those gormless newlyweds, but also not the same.”

He grinned. “You seemed so delicate, and you were so pale and so beautiful in your Trembling Dread of me.”

“It wasn’t  _ you _ ,” she retorted. “You know perfectly well what I was scared of.”

“Aye. I do. You were shy and sweet and heartmelting. It made me want nothing more than to really win your heart. I wanted  _ so _ much for you to enjoy yourself.”

“I did,” she said, blushing, feeling inexplicably shy again at the memory.

“I know,” he said. “You complained like fury, but I could see right through it all. You aren’t much of an actress, Maddie-love.”

She stood up and he watched as she slowly took off her hat and gloves and sat down at the vanity. “Seems a shame to disassemble this,” she said, patting at the elaborate coiffure he’d given her that morning.

He came up behind her, standing and watching with his hands behind his back as she undid it and brushed it smooth. When she finished, she took off most of her clothes and sat down on the hearthrug again and looked up at him. 

“Come kneel down here,” she said, beckoning with her head and a little bit of a twinkle in her eyes. “Right here in front of me.”

He did, and she took a handful of her hair and threw it over his shoulder and wrapped it round the back of his neck and held him trapped there.    


His face broke into a smile like sunrise. “ _ La belle dame sans merci _ ,” he whispered. “You remembered!” Then, almost blushing, “I’m afraid I’d forgotten I told you about that.”

“Well, you did,” she said. “ _ I’ve _ never forgotten.”

He reached out a hand to her cheek and stroked it gently, and she tightened the bond of her hair until their lips met, and he kissed her, long and lingering and loving. 

He stopped kissing her to take off his own clothes, but she let go of her hair and intercepted his hands to do it for him, taking her time about unbuttoning his shirt and easing it off.

“You were definitely not disrobing me our first night,” he said in a murmur, his eyes bright with admiration. “And now look at you. No shame, no shyness, confident as anything. Oh, Maddie, you are  _ so beautiful. _ ”

She looked a tiny bit embarrassed at that. “I am  _ not _ ! I’ve grown fat as an old cat.”

“You can’t be a fruitful tree  _ and _ a sapling,” he pointed out. “You were a lovely sapling, but I like you better now. I really do.” He ran his hands very deliberately down her sides. “Besides, you’re not fat. Just—curvy.”

“I was curvy before,” she said, a bit defensively. 

“Aye right ye were. But nae like this.” He kissed her shoulder. “Hisht yer havering.”

“I like when you go all Scots on me,” she said softly. “ _ Dead _ sexy.” And she twined her arms about his neck and kissed him and tipped him over onto the floor with her.

 

Always afterwards Maddie would recall that evening with as much clarity as if she had been watching from outside herself. She would remember his softly murmured words of love and the quiet, contented sound of their breathing together after they had finished; the fair hairs on his arms and chest catching the light of the dancing flames, the blissfully warm calm that settled over her like a blanket, until

_ She was lying in a sunny field of heather, watching the birds soaring in the crystal sky above, her heart riding the winds with them, and she felt someone squeeze her hand, and she turned her head to see Julie lying there beside her.  _

_ Oh, Julie. Maddie smiled with joy. _

_ Julie held out her arms, her face alight with happiness, and Maddie saw on the insides of her wrists the scars where she’d been burned. She had more on her throat, silvery-white in a soldierly row—battle scars. They seemed almost to be glowing. Maddie pulled Julie into her embrace, remembering how much Julie had loved to snuggle into Maddie's comforting softness. “You're  _ so _ much more pillowy than I am,” Julie had always said, contented as a cat on a cushion by a warm fire. Julie said nothing now, but in that moment Maddie could feel how changed Julie was. She was thinner and frailer than she had been before. Her scars had healed, but there was something broken in her that made her seem different and fragile, and Maddie wished with all her heart that by holding her close she could heal her friend. She did not think just then that they were both broken, that her own heart had shattered into a jagged half the moment Julie fell dead. She only thought, We are here. We are Us again. We are safe. We are complete. And the glow of Julie warmed Maddie, burnt away all the pain and the darkness and the sadness inside her. Maddie felt warm and truly whole for the first time in nearly eight years, and she kissed Julie’s wrist, and the scars faded. The sight delighted her so much that she kissed the other wrist, and Julie’s throat, and watched the rest disappear. Julie, still beaming, snuggled back into Maddie, smiling and content. _

_ Maddie smiled too, savouring the moment. Light faded away everything including Julie, and _

Maddie opened her eyes and found herself in bed, with Jamie, not Julie, snuggled up into her. The brightness and heat of her dream still seemed very real to Maddie, and instead of feeling desolated as she so often did when she woke from dreams of Julie, she felt peaceful and elated and amazingly lucky to have Julie’s brother, who loved her with about as much devotion and abandon as Julie herself, and somehow in that instant she realised that as long as she had Jamie, she could never  _ really _ completely lose Julie.

“Will you love me as much when I am ninety-seven?” she whispered in Jamie’s ear. 

His reply was a sleepy murmur. “Dafty lassie, of course I will. And more.”

“Do you think we’ll live that long?”

“Longer.” 

She wrapped her arms tightly about Jamie and held on. She would never let go. She didn’t have to. 

She fell asleep again with a smile on her face and her cheek pressed against his inked upper arm. 

_ Virescit vulnere virtus. _


End file.
